THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


IN  MEMORY  OF 
MRS.  VIRGINIA  B.  SPORER 


THE  WONDER 


BY     J.     D.     BERESFORD 

THESE  LYNNEKERS 

THE  EARLY  HISTORY  OF  JACOB  STAHL 

A  CANDIDATE  FOR  TRUTH 

THE  INVISIBLE  EVENT 

THE  HOUSE  IN  DEMETRIUS  ROAD 


GEORGE    H.    DORAN    COMPANY 
NEW    YORK 


THE 

WONDER 


BY 

J.  D.  BERESFORD 

AUTHOR  OF  "THESE  LYNNEKERS,"  "THE  STORY  OP  JACOB  BTAHL,"  ETC. 


NEW  YORK 
GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,  1917, 
BY  GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA 


TO 
MY  FRIEND  AND   CRITIC 

HUGH  WALPOLE 


2039568 


CONTENTS 
PART  ONE 

MY   EARLY   ASSOCIATIONS   WITH 
GINGER   STOTT 

CHAPTEB  PAGE 

I.  THE  MOTIVE 11 

II.  NOTES  FOR -A  BIOGRAPHY  OF  GINGER  STOTT    22 
III.  THE  DISILLUSIONMENT  OF  GINGER  STOTT    58 

PART  TWO 

THE   CHILDHOOD   OF   THE   WONDER 
.    IV.  THE  MANNER  OF  His  BIRTH     ....     71 
V.  His  DEPARTURE  FROM  STOKE-UNDERHILL    92 

VI.  His  FATHER'S  DESERTION 107 

VII.  His  DEBT  TO  HENRY  CHALLIS  .      .     .     .118 

VIII.  His  FIRST  VISIT  TO  CHALLIS  COURT    .     .  143 

INTERLUDE 149 

THE   WONDER   AMONG   BOOKS 

IX.  His  PASSAGE  THROUGH  THE  PRISON  OP 

KNOWLEDGE 155 

X.  His  PASTORS  AND  MASTERS  .  179 


viii  CONTENTS 

PART  TWO  (continued) 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XI.  His  EXAMINATION 193 

XII.  His  INTERVIEW  WITH  HERB  GROSSMANN  217 
XHI.  FUGITIVE 229 

PART  THREE 

MY  ASSOCIATION  WITH   THE  WONDER 

XIV.  How  I  WENT  TO  PYM  TO  WRITE  A  BOOK  235 

XV.  THE  INCIPIENCE  OF  MY  SUBJECTION  TO 

THE  WONDER 247 

XVI.  THE  PROGRESS  AND  RELAXATION  OF  MY 

SUBJECTION 267 

XVII.  RELEASE 284 

XVIII.  IMPLICATIONS 299 

XIX.  EPILOGUE:  THE  USES  OF  MYSTERY  .  305 


PART  ONK 

MY  EARLY  ASSOCIATIONS 
WITH  GINGER  STOTT 


PART    ONE 

MY  EARLY  ASSOCIATIONS  WITH  GINGER 
STOTT 

CHAPTER  I 

THE    MOTIVE 


I  COULD  not  say  at  which  station  the  woman  and 
her  baby  entered  the  train. 

Since  we  had  left  London,  I  had  been  struggling 
with  Baillie's  translation  of  Hegel's  "Phenomenol 
ogy."  It  was  not  a  book  to  read  among  such 
distracting  circumstances  as  those  of  a  railway 
journey,  but  I  was  eagerly  planning  a  little  dis 
sertation  of  my  own  at  that  time,  and  my  work  as 
a  journalist  gave  me  little  leisure  for  quiet  study. 

I  looked  up  when  the  woman  entered  my  com 
partment,  though  I  did  not  notice  the  name  of  the 
station.  I  caught  sight  of  the  baby  she  was  carry 
ing,  and  turned  back  to  my  book.  I  thought  the 
child  was  a  freak,  an  abnormality;  and  such 
things  disgust  me. 

11 


12  THE  WONDER 

I  returned  to  the  study  of  my  Hegel  and  read: 
"For  knowledge  is  not  the  divergence  of  the  ray, 
but  the  ray  itself  by  which  the  truth  comes  to  us; 
and  if  this  ray  be  removed,  the  bare  direction  or 
the  empty  place  would  alone  be  indicated." 

I  kept  my  eyes  on  the  book — the  train  had  started 
again — but  the  next  passage  conveyed  no  meaning 
to  my  mind,  and  as  I  attempted  to  re-read  it  an 
impression  was  interposed  between  me  and  the 
work  I  was  studying. 

I  saw  projected  on  the  page  before  me  an  image 
which  I  mistook  at  first  for  the  likeness  of  Richard 
Owen.  It  was  the  conformation  of  the  head  that 
gave  rise  to  the  mistake,  a  head  domed  and  massive, 
white  and  smooth — it  was  a  head  that  had  always 
interested  me.  But  as  I  looked,  my  mind  already 
searching  for  the  reason  of  this  hallucination,  I 
saw  that  the  lower  part  of  the  face  was  that  of  an 
infant.  My  eyes  wandered  from  the  book,  and  my 
gaze  fluttered  along  the  four  persons  seated  oppo 
site  to  me,  till  it  rested  on  the  reality  of  my  vision. 
And  even  as  my  attention  was  thus  irresistibly 
dragged  from  my  book,  my  mind  clung  with  a  feeble 
desperation  to  its  task,  and  I  murmured  under  my 
breath  like  a  child  repeating  a  mechanically  learned 
lesson:  "Knowledge  is  not  the  divergence  of  the  ray 
but  the  ray  itself.  .  .  ." 

For  several  seconds  the  eyes  of  the  infant  held 


THE  MOTIVE  13 

mine.  Its  gaze  was  steady  and  clear  as  that  of  a 
normal  child,  but  what  differentiated  it  was  the 
impression  one  received  of  calm  intelligence.  The 
head  was  completely  bald,  and  there  was  no  trace 
of  eyebrows,  but  the  eyes  themselves  were  protected 
by  thick,  short  lashes. 

The  child  turned  its  head,  and  I  felt  my  muscles 
relax.  Until  then  I  had  not  been  conscious  that 
they  had  been  stiffened.  My  gaze  was  released, 
pushed  aside  as  it  were,  and  I  found  myself  watching 
the  object  of  the  child's  next  scrutiny. 

This  object  was  a  man  of  forty  or  so,  inclined 
to  corpulence,  and  untidy.  He  bore  the  evidences 
of  failure  in  the  process  of  becoming.  He  wore 
a  beard  that  was  scanty  and  ragged,  there  were 
bald  patches  of  skin  on  the  jaw;  one  inferred 
that  he  wore  that  beard  only  to  save  the  trouble 
of  shaving.  He  was  sitting  next  to  me,  the  middle 
passenger  of  the  three  on  my  side  of  the  carriage, 
and  he  was  absorbed  in  the  pages  of  a  half-penny 
paper — I  think  he  was  reading  the  police  reports — 
which  was  interposed  between  him  and  the  child 
in  the  corner  diagonally  opposite  to  that  which  I 
occupied. 

The  man  was  hunched  up,  slouching,  his  legs 
crossed,  his  elbows  seeking  support  against  his  body ; 
he  held  his  clumsily  folded  paper  close  to  his  eyes. 


14  THE  WONDER 

He  had  the  appearance  of  being  very  myopic,  but 
he  did  not  wear  glasses. 

As  I  watched  him,  he  began  to  fidget.  He  un 
crossed  his  legs  and  hunched  his  body  deeper 
into  the  back  of  his  seat.  Presently  his  eyes  began 
to  creep  up  the  paper  in  front  of  him.  When 
they  reached  the  top,  he  hesitated  a  moment, 
making  a  survey  under  cover,  then  he  dropped  his 
hands  and  stared  stupidly  at  the  infant  in  the  cor 
ner,  his  mouth  slightly  open,  his  feet  pulled  in  under 
the  seat  of  the  carriage. 

As  the  child  let  him  go,  his  head  drooped,  and 
then  he  turned  and  looked  at  me  with  a  silly,  vacu 
ous  smile.  I  looked  away  hurriedly ;  this  was  not 
a  man  with  whom  I  cared  to  share  experience. 

The  process  was  repeated.  The  next  victim  was 
a  big,  rubicund,  healthy-looking  man,  clean  shaved, 
with  light-blue  eyes  that  were  slightly  magnified  by 
the  glasses  of  his  gold-mounted  spectacles.  He,  too, 
had  been  reading  a  newspaper — the  Evening  Stand 
ard — until  the  child's  gaze  claimed  his  attention,  and 
he,  too,  was  held  motionless  by  that  strange,  ap 
praising  stare.  But  when  he  was  released,  his 
surprise  found  vent  in  words.  "This,"  I  thought, 
"is  the  man  accustomed  to  act." 

"A  very  remarkable  child,  ma'am,"  he  said,  ad 
dressing  the  thin,  ascetic-looking  mother. 


THE  MOTIVE  15 


ii 


The  mother's  appearance  did  not  convey  the  im 
pression  of  poverty.  She  was,  indeed,  warmly, 
decently,  and  becomingly  clad.  She  wore  a  long 
black  coat,  braided  and  frogged;  it  had  the  air  of 
belonging  to  an  older  fashion,  but  the  material  of 
it  was  new.  And  her  bonnet,  trimmed  with  jet 
ornaments  growing  on  stalks  that  waved  tremulously 
— that,  also,  was  a  modern  replica  of  an  older  mode. 
On  her  hands  were  black  thread  gloves,  somewhat 
ill-fitting. 

Her  face  was  not  that  of  a  country  woman.  The 
thin,  high-bridged  nose,  the  fallen  cheeks,  the  shad 
ows  under  eyes  gloomy  and  retrospective — these 
were  marks  of  the  town;  above  all,  perhaps,  that 
sallow  greyness  of  the  skin  which  speaks  of  con 
finement.  .  .  . 

The  child  looked  healthy  enough.  Its  great  bald 
head  shone  resplendently  like  a  globe  of  alabaster. 

"A  very  remarkable  child,  ma'am,"  said  the  rubi 
cund  man  who  sat  facing  the  woman. 

The  woman  twitched  her  untidy-looking  black  eye 
brows,  her  head  trembled  slightly  and  set  the  jet 
fruit  of  her  bonnet  dancing  and  nodding. 

"Yes,  sir,"  she  replied. 

"Very  remarkable,"  said  the  man,  adjusting  his 
spectacles  and  leaning  forward.  His  action  had  an 


16  THE  WONDER 

air  of  deliberate  courage;  he  was  justifying  his  for 
titude  after  that  temporary  aberration. 

I  watched  him  a  little  nervously.  I  remembered 
my  feelings  when,  as  a  child,  I  had  seen  some  mag 
nificent  enter  the  lion's  den  in  a  travelling  circus. 
The  failure  on  my  right  was,  also,  absorbed  in  the 
spectacle;  he  stared,  open-mouthed,  his  eyes  blink 
ing  and  shifting. 

The  other  three  occupants  of  the  compartment, 
sitting  on  the  same  side  as  the  woman,  back  to  the 
engine,  dropped  papers  and  magazines  and  turned 
their  heads,  all  interest.  None  of  these  three  had, 
so  far  as  I  had  observed,  fallen  under  the  spell  of 
inspection  by  the  infant,  but  I  noticed  that  the  man 
— an  artisan  apparently — who  sat  next  to  the 
woman  had  edged  away  from  her,  and  that  the  three 
passengers  opposite  to  me  were  huddled  towards 
my  end  of  the  compartment. 

The  child  had  abstracted  its  gaze,  which  was  now 
directed  down  the  aisle  of  the  carriage,  indefinitely 
focussed  on  some  point  outside  the  window.  It 
seemed  remote,  entirely  unconcerned  with  any  human 
being. 

I  speak  of  it  asexually.  I  was  still  uncertain  as 
to  its  sex.  It  is  true  that  all  babies  look  alike  to 
me;  but  I  should  have  known  that  this  child  was 
male,  the  conformation  of  the  skull  alone  should 
have  told  me  that.  It  was  its  dress  that  gave  me 


THE  MOTIVE  17 

cause  to  hesitate.  It  was  dressed  absurdly,  not  in 
"long-clothes,"  but  in  a  long  frock  that  hid  its  feet 
and  was  bunched  about  its  body. 


in 

"Er — does  it — er — can  it — talk?"  hesitated  the 
rubicund  man,  and  I  grew  hot  at  his  boldness.  There 
seemed  to  be  something  disrespectful  in  speaking 
before  the  child  in  this  impersonal  way. 

"No,  sir,  he's  never  made  a  sound,"  replied  the 
woman,  twitching  and  vibrating.  Her  heavy,  dark 
eyebrows  jerked  spasmodically,  nervously. 

"Never  cried?"  persisted  the  interrogator. 

"Never  once,  sir." 

"Dumb,  eh?"  He  said  it  as  an  aside,  half  under 
his  breath. 

"  'E's  never  spoke,  sir." 

"Hm!"  The  man  cleared  his  throat  and  braced 
himself  with  a  deliberate  and  obvious  effort.  "Is  it 
• — he — not  water  on  the  brain — what?" 

I  felt  that  a  rigour  of  breathless  suspense  held 
every  occupant  of  the  compartment.  I  wanted,  and 
I  know  that  every  other  person  there  wanted,  to 
say,  "Look  out!  Don't  go  too  far."  The  child, 
however,  seemed  unconscious  of  the  insult:  he  still 
stared  out  through  the  window,  lost  in  profound 
contemplation. 


18  THE  WONDER 

"No,  sir,  oh  no !"  replied  the  woman.  "  'E's  got 
more  sense  than  a  ordinary  child."  She  held  the 
infant  as  if  it  were  some  priceless  piece  of  earthen 
ware,  not  nursing  it  as  a  woman  nurses  a  baby,  but 
balancing  it  with  supreme  attention  in  her  lap. 

"How  old  is  he?" 

We  had  been  awaiting  this  question. 

"A  year  and  nine  munse,  sir." 

"Ought  to  have  spoken  before  that,  oughtn't  he  ?" 

"Never  even  cried,  sir,"  said  the  woman.  She 
regarded  the  child  with  a  look  into  which  I  read 
something  of  apprehension.  If  it  were  apprehension 
it  was  a  feeling  that  we  all  shared.  But  the  rubicund 
man  was  magnificent,  though,  like  the  lion  tamer  of 
my  youthful  experience,  he  was  doubtless  conscious 
of  the  aspect  his  temerity  wore  in  the  eyes  of  be 
holders.  He  must  have  been  showing  off. 

"Have  you  taken  opinion?"  he  asked;  and  then, 
seeing  the  woman's  lack  of  comprehension,  he  trans 
lated  the  question — badly,  for  he  conveyed  a  differ 
ent  meaning — thus, 

"I  mean,  have  you  had  a  doctor  for  him?" 

The  train  was  slackening  speed. 

"Oh!  yes,  sir." 

"And  what  do  they  say?" 

The  child  turned  its  head  and  looked  the  rubicund 
man  full  in  the  eyes.  Never  in  'the  face  of  any  man 


THE  MOTIVE  19 

or  woman  have  I  seen  such  an  expression  of  sublime 
pity  and  contempt.  .  .  . 

I  remembered  a  small  urchin  I  had  once  seen  at 
the  Zoological  Gardens.  Urged  on  by  a  band  of 
other  urchins,  he  was  throwing  pebbles  at  a  great 
lion  that  lolled,  finely  indifferent,  on  the  floor  of  its 
playground.  Closer  crept  the  urchin ;  he  grew  splen 
didly  bold ;  he  threw  larger  and  larger  pebbles,  until 
the  lion  rose  suddenly  with  a  roar,  and  dashed 
fiercely  down  to  the  bars  of  its  cage. 

I  thought  of  that  urchin's  scared,  shrieking  face 
now,  as  the  rubicund  man  leant  quickly  back  into 
his  corner. 

Yet  that  was  not  all,  for  the  infant,  satisfied, 
perhaps,  with  its  victim's  ignominy,  turned  and 
looked  at  me  with  a  cynical  smile.  I  was,  as  it 
were,  taken  into  its  confidence.  I  felt  flattered,  un 
deservedly  yet  enormously  flattered.  I  blushed,  I 
may  have  simpered. 

The  train  drew  up  in  Great  Hittenden  station. 

The  woman  gathered  her  priceless  possession  care 
fully  into  her  arms,  and  the  rubicund  man  adroitly 
opened  the  door  for  her. 

"Good  day,  sir,"  she  said,  as  she  got  out. 

"Good  day,"  echoed  the  rubicund  man  with  re 
lief,  and  we  all  drew  a  deep  breath  of  relief  with 
him  in  concert,  as  though  we  had  just  witnessed  the 
safe  descent  of  some  over-daring  aviator. 


20  THE  WONDER 

IV 

As  the  train  moved  on,  we  six,  who  had  been  fel 
low-passengers  for  some  thirty  or  forty  minutes  be 
fore  the  woman  had  entered  our  compartment,  we 
who  had  not  till  then  exchanged  a  word,  broke  sud 
denly  into  general  conversation. 

"Water  on  the  brain;  I  don't  care  what  any  one 
says,"  asserted  the  rubicund  man. 

"My  sister  had  one  very  similar,"  put  in  the  fail 
ure,  who  was  sitting  next  to  me.  "It  died,"  he 
added,  by  way  of  giving  point  to  his  instance. 

"Ought  not  to  exhibit  freaks  like  that  in  public," 
said  an  old  man  opposite  to  me. 

"You're  right,  sir,"  was  the  verdict  of  the  arti 
san,  and  he  spat  carefully  and  scraped  his  boot  on 
the  floor;  "them  things  ought  to  be  kep'  private." 

"Mad,  of  course,  that's  to  say  imbecile,"  repeated 
the  rubicund  man. 

"Horrid  head  he'd  got,"  said  the  failure,  and 
shivered  histrionically. 

They  continued  to  demonstrate  their  contempt 
for  the  infant  by  many  asseverations.  The  reaction 
grew.  They  were  all  bold  now,  and  all  wanted  to 
speak.  They  spoke  as  the  survivors  from  some 
common  peril;  they  were  increasingly  anxious  to 
demonstrate  that  they  had  never  suffered  intimida 
tion,  and  in  their  relief  they  were  anxious  to  laugh 


THE  MOTIVE  21 

at  the  thing  which  had  for  a  time  subdued  them. 
But  they  never  named  it  as  a  cause  for  fear.  Their 
speech  was  merely  innuendo. 

At  the  last,  however,  I  caught  an  echo  of  the  true 
feeling. 

It  was  the  rubicund  man  who,  most  daring  during 
the  crisis,  was  now  bold  enough  to  admit  curiosity. 

"What's  your  opinion,  sir?"  he  said  to  me.  The 
train  was  running  into  Wenderby ;  he  was  preparing 
to  get  out;  he  leaned  forward,  his  fingers  on  the 
handle  of  the  door. 

I  was  embarrassed.  Why  had  I  been  singled  out 
by  the  child?  I  had  taken  no  part  in  the  recent 
inter jectory  conversation.  Was  this  a  consequence 
of  the  notice  that  had  been  paid  to  me? 

"I?"  I  stammered,  and  then  reverted  to  the  rubi 
cund  man's  original  phrase,  "It — it  was  certainly  a 
very  remarkable  child,"  I  said. 

The  rubicund  man  nodded  and  pursed  his  lips. 
"Very,"  he  muttered  as  he  alighted,  "Very  remark 
able.  Well,  good  day  to  you." 

I  returned  to  my  book,  and  was  surprised  to  find 
that  my  index  finger  was  still  marking  the  place  at 
which  I  had  been  interrupted  some  fifteen  minutes 
before.  My  arm  felt  stiff  and  cramped. 

I  read:  "...  and  if  this  ray  be  removed,  the 
bare  direction  or  the  empty  place  would  alone  be 
indicated." 


CHAPTER    II 

NOTES   FOR   A   BIOGEAPHY  OF    GINGER    STOTT 


GINGER  STOTT  is  a  name  that  was  once  as  well  known 
as  any  in  England.  Stott  has  been  the  subject  of 
leading  articles  in  every  daily  paper;  his  life  has 
been  written  by  an  able  journalist  who  interviewed 
Stott  himself,  during  ten  crowded  minutes,  and  filled 
three  hundred  pages  with  details,  seventy  per  cent, 
of  which  were  taken  from  the  journals,  and  the  re 
mainder  supplied  by  a  brilliant  imagination.  Ten 
years  ago  Ginger  Stott  was  on  a  pinnacle,  there  was 
a  Stott  vogue.  You  found  his  name  at  the  bottom 
of  signed  articles  written  by  members  of  the  edi 
torial  staff;  you  bought  Stott  collars,  although 
Stott  himself  did  not  wear  collars ;  there  was  a  Stott 
waltz,  which  is  occasionally  hummed  by  clerks,  and 
whistled  by  errand-boys  to  this  day;  there  was  a 
periodical  which  lived  for  ten  months,  entitled  Gin 
ger  Stott's  Weekly;  in  brief,  during  one  summer 
there  was  a  Stott  apotheosis. 

But  that  was  ten  years  ago,  and  the  rising  genera- 


GINGER  STOTT  23 

tion  has  almost  forgotten  the  once  well-known  name. 
One  rarely  sees  him  mentioned  in  the  morning  pa 
per  now,  and  then  it  is  but  the  briefest  reference; 
some  such  note  as  this  "Pickering  was  at  the  top 
of  his  form,  recalling  the  finest  achievements  of  Gin 
ger  Stott  at  his  best,"  or  "Flack  is  a  magnificent 
find  for* Kent:  he  promises  to  completely  surpass  the 
historic  feats  of  Ginger  Stott."  These  journalistic 
superlatives  only  irritate  those  who  remember  the 
performances  referred  to.  We  who  watched  the 
man's  career  know  that  Pickering  and  Flack  are  but 
tyros  compared  to  Stott;  we  know  that  none  of  his 
successors  has  challenged  comparison  with  him.  He 
was  a  meteor  that  blazed  across  the  sky,  and  if  he 
ever  has  a  true  successor,  such  stars  as  Pickering 
and  Flack  will  shine  pale  and  dim  in  comparison. 
It  makes  one  feel  suddenly  old  to  recall  that  great 
matinee  at  the  Lyceum,  given  for  Ginger  Stott's 
benefit  after  he  met  with  his  accident.  In  ten  years 
so  many  great  figures  in  that  world  have  died  or 
fallen  into  obscurity.  I  can  count  on  my  fingers 
the  number  of  those  who  were  then,  and  are  still,  in 
the  forefront  of  popularity.  Of  the  others  poor 
Captain  Wallis,  for  instance,  is  dead — and  no  mod 
ern  writer,  in  my  opinion,  can  equal  the  brilliant  de- 
scriptiveness  of  Wallis's  articles  in  the  Daily  Post. 
Bobby  Maisefield,  again,  Stott's  colleague,  is  a  mar 
tyr  to  rheumatism,  and  keeps  a  shop  in  Ailesworth, 


24  THE  WONDER 

the  scene  of  so  many  of  his  triumphs.  What  a 
list  one  might  make,  but  how  uselessly.  It  is  enough 
to  note  how  many  names  have  dropped  out,  how 
many  others  are  the  names  of  those  we  now  speak 
of  as  veterans.  In  ten  years!  It  certainly  makes 
one  feel  old. 

n 

No  apology  is  needed  for  telling  again  the  story 
of  Stott's  career.  Certain  details  will  still  be  fa 
miliar,  it  is  true,  the  historic  details  that  can  never 
be  forgotten  while  cricket  holds  place  as  our  na 
tional  game.  But  there  are  many  facts  of  Stott's 
life  familiar  to  me,  which  have  never  been  made 
public  property.  If  I  must  repeat  that  which  is 
known,  I  can  give  the  known  a  new  setting;  perhaps 
a  new  value. 

He  came  of  mixed  races.  His  mother  was  pure 
Welsh,  his  father  a  Yorkshire  collier ;  but  when  Gin 
ger  was  nine  years  old  his  father  died,  and  Mrs. 
Stott  came  to  live  in  Ailesworth  where  she  had  im 
migrant  relations,  and  it  was  there  that  she  set 
up  the  little  paper-shop,  the  business  by  which  she 
maintained  herself  and  her  boy.  That  shop  is  still 
in  existence,  and  the  name  has  not  been  altered. 
You  may  find  it  in  the  little  street  that  runs  off  the 
market  place,  going  down  towards  the  Borstal  In 
stitution. 


GINGER  STOTT  25 

There  are  many  people  alive  in  Ailesworth  to 
day  who  can  remember  the  sturdy,  freckled,  sandy- 
haired  boy  who  used  to  go  round  with  the  morning 
and  evening  papers ;  the  boy  who  was  to  change  the 
fortunes  of  a  county. 

Ginger  was  phenomenally  thorough  in  all  he  un 
dertook.  It  was  one  of  the  secrets  of  his  success. 
It  was  this  thoroughness  that  kept  him  engaged  in 
his  mother's  little  business  until  he  was  seventeen. 
Up  to  that  age  he  never  found  time  for  cricket — 
sufficient  evidence  of  his  remarkable  and  most  un 
usual  qualities. 

It  was  sheer  chance,  apparently,  that  determined 
his  choice  of  a  career. 

He  had  walked  into  Stoke-Underhill  to  deliver  a 
parcel,  and  on  his  way  back  his  attention  was  ar 
rested  by  the  sight  of  a  line  of  vehicles  drawn  up 
to  the  boarded  fencing  that  encloses  the  Ailesworth 
County  Ground.  The  occupants  of  these  vehicles 
were  standing  up,  struggling  to  catch  a  sight  of  the 
match  that  was  being  played  behind  the  screen 
erected  to  shut  out  non-paying  sightseers.  Among 
the  horses'  feet,  squirming  between  the  spokes  of 
wheels,  utterly  regardless  of  all  injury,  small  boys 
glued  their  eyes  to  knot-holes  in  the  fence,  while 
others  climbed  surreptitiously,  and  for  the  most  part 
unobserved,  on  to  the  backs  of  tradesmen's  carts. 
All  these  individuals  were  in  a  state  of  tremendous 


26  THE  WONDER 

excitement,  and  even  the  policeman  whose  duty  it 
was  to  move  them  on,  was  so  engrossed  in  watching 
the  game  that  he  had  disappeared  inside  the  turn 
stile,  and  had  given  the  outside  spectators  full  op 
portunity  for  eleemosynary  enjoyment. 

That  tarred  fence  has  since  been  raised  some  six 
feet,  and  now  encloses  a  wider  sweep  of  ground — 
alterations  that  may  be  classed  among  the  minor 
revolutions  effected  by  the  genius  of  the  thick-set, 
fair-haired  youth  of  seventeen,  who  paused  on  that 
early  September  afternoon  to  wonder  what  all  the 
fuss  was  about.  The  Ailesworth  County  Ground 
was  not  famous  in  those  days ;  not  then  was  ac 
commodation  needed  for  thirty  thousand  spectators, 
drawn  from  every  county  in  England  to  witness  the 
unparalleled. 

Ginger  stopped.  The  interest  of  the  spectacle 
pierced  his  absorption  in  the  business  he  had  in 
hand.  Such  a  thing  was  almost  unprecedented. 

"What's  up?"  he  asked  of  Fuggy  Phillips. 

Puggy  Phillips — hazarding  his  life  by  standing  on 
the  shiny,  slightly  curved  top  of  his  butcher's  cart 
— made  no  appropriate  answer.  "Yah — ah — AH  !" 
he  screamed  in  ecstasy.  "Oh!  played!  Pla-a-a- 
ayed ! !" 

Ginger  wasted  no  more  breath,  but  laid  hold  of 
the  little  brass  rail  that  encircled  Puggy's  plat 
form,  and  with  a  sudden  hoist  that  lifted  the  shafts 


GINGER  STOTT  27 

and  startled  the  pony,  raised  himself  to  the  level 
of  a  spectator. 

"  'Ere !"  shouted  the  swaying,  tottering  Fuggy. 
"What  the  .  .  .  are  yer  rup  to?" 

The  well-drilled  pony,  however,  settled  down  again 
quietly  to  maintain  his  end  of  the  see-saw,  and,  find 
ing  himself  still  able  to  preserve  his  equilibrium, 
Puggy  instantly  forgot  the  presence  of  the  intruder. 

"What's  up?"  asked  Ginger  again. 

"Oh!  Well  'it,  WELL  'IT!"  yelled  Puggy.  "Oh! 
Gow  on,  gow  on  agen!  Run  it  aht.  Run  it  AH-T." 

Ginger  gave  it  up,  and  turned  his  attention  to 
the  match. 

It  was  not  any  famous  struggle  that  was  being 
fought  out  on  the  old  Ailesworth  Ground;  it  was 
only  second-class  cricket,  the  deciding  match  of  the 
Minor  Counties  championship.  Hampdenshire  and 
Oxfordshire,  old  rivals,  had  been  neck-and-neck  all 
through  the  season,  and,  as  luck  would  have  it,  the 
engagement  between  them  had  been  the  last  fixture 
on  the  card. 

When  Ginger  rose  to  the  level  of  spectator,  the 
match  was  anybody's  game.  Bobby  Maisefield  was 
batting.  He  was  then  a  promising  young  colt  who 
had  not  earned  a  fixed  place  in  the  Eleven.  Ginger 
knew  him  socially,  but  they  were  not  friends,  they 
had  no  interests  in  common.  Bobby  had  made 
twenty-seven.  He  was  partnered  by  old  Trigson, 


28  THE  WONDER 

the  bowler,  (he  has  been  dead  these  eight  years,) 
whose  characteristic  score  of  "Not  out  .  .  .  O," 
is  sufficiently  representative  of  his  methods. 

It  was  the  fourth  innings,  and  Hampdenshire 
with  only  one  more  wicket  to  fall,  still  required  nine 
teen  runs  to  win.  Trigson  could  be  relied  upon  to 
keep  his  wicket  up,  but  not  to  score.  The  hopes  of 
Ailesworth  centred  in  the  ability  of  that  almost  un 
tried  colt  Bobby  Maisefield — and  he  seemed  likely  to 
justify  the  trust  reposed  in  him.  A  beautiful  late 
cut  that  eluded  third  man  and  hit  the  fence  with 
a  resounding  bang,  nearly  drove  Puggy  wild  with 
delight. 

"Only  fifteen  more,"  he  shouted.  "Oh!  Played; 
pla-a-a-yed !" 

But  as  the  score  crept  up,  the  tensity  grew.  As 
each  ball  was  delivered,  a  chill,  rigid  silence  held 
the  onlookers  in  its  grip.  When  Trigson,  with 
the  field  collected  round  him,  almost  to  be  covered 
with  a  sheet,  stonewalled  the  most  tempting  lob,  the 
click  of  the  ball  on  his  bat  was  an  intrusion  on  the 
stillness.  And  always  it  was  followed  by  a  deep 
breath  of  relief  that  sighed  round  the  ring  like  a 
faint  wind  through  a  plantation  of  larches.  When 
Bobby  scored,  the  tumult  broke  out  like  a  crash 
of  thunder;  but  it  subsided  again,  echoless,  to  that 
intense  silence  so  soon  as  the  ball  was  "dead." 

Curiously,  it  was  not  Bobby  who  made  the  win- 


GINGER  STOTT  29 

ning  hit  but  Trigson.  "One  to  tie,  two  to  win," 
breathed  Fuggy  as  the  field  changed  over,  and  it  was 
Trigson  who  had  to  face  the  bowling.  The  sus 
pense  was  torture.  Oxford  had  put  on  their  fast 
bowler  again,  and  Trigson,  intimidated,  perhaps,  did 
not  play  him  with  quite  so  straight  a  bat  as  he  had 
opposed  to  the  lob-bowler.  The  ball  hit  Trigson's 
bat  and  glanced  through  the  slips.  The  field  was 
very  close  to  the  wicket,  and  the  ball  was  travelling 
fast.  No  one  seemed  to  make  any  attempt  to  stop 
it.  For  a  moment  the  significance  of  the  thing  was 
not  realised;  for  a  moment  only,  then  followed  up 
roar,  deafening,  stupendous. 

Fuggy  was  stamping  fiercely  on  the  top  of  his 
cart;  the  tears  were  streaming  down  his  face;  he 
was  screaming  and  yelling  incoherent  words.  And 
he  was  representative  of  the  crowd.  Thus  men 
shouted  and  stamped  and  cried  when  news  came  of 
the  relief  of  Kimberley,  or  when  that  false  report 
of  victory  was  brought  to  Paris  in  the  August  of 
1870.  .  .  . 

The  effect  upon  Ginger  was  a  thing  apart.  He 
did  not  join  in  the  fierce  acclamation;  he  did  not 
wait  to  see  the  chairing  of  Bobby  and  Trigson.  The 
greatness  of  Stott's  character,  the  fineness  of  his 
genius  is  displayed  in  his  attitude  towards  the  dra 
matic  spectacle  he  had  just  witnessed. 

As  he  trudged  home  into  Ailesworth,  his  thoughts 


30  THE  WONDER 

found  vent  in  a  muttered  sentence  which  is  pecu 
liarly  typical  of  the  effect  that  had  been  made  upon 
him. 

"I  believe  I  could  have  bowled  that  chap,"  he 
said. 


m 


In  writing  a  history  of  this  kind,  a  certain  licence 
must  be  claimed.  It  will  be  understood  that  I  am 
filling  certain  gaps  in  the  narrative  with  imagined 
detail.  But  the  facts  are  true.  My  added  detail 
is  only  intended  to  give  an  appearance  of  life  and 
reality  to  my  history.  Let  me,  therefore,  insist  upon 
one  vital  point.  I  have  not  been  dependent  on  hear 
say  for  one  single  fact  in  this  story.  Where  my 
experience  does  not  depend  upon  personal  experi 
ence,  it  has  been  received  from  the  principals  them 
selves.  Finally,  it  should  be  remembered  that  when 
I  have,  imaginatively,  put  words  into  the  mouths 
of  the  persons  of  this  story,  they  are  never  essen 
tial  words  which  affect  the  issue.  The  essential 
speeches  are  reported  from  first-hand  sources.  For 
instance,  Ginger  Stott  himself  has  told  me  on  more 
than  one  occasion  that  the  words  with  which  I  closed 
the  last  section,  were  the  actual  words  spoken  by 
him  on  the  occasion  in  question.  It  was  not  until 
six  years  after  the  great  Oxfordshire  match  that 


GINGER  STOTT  31 

I  myself  first  met  the  man,  but  what  follows  is 
literally  true  in  all  essentials. 

There  was  a  long,  narrow  strip  of  yard,  or  alley, 
at  the  back  of  Mrs.  Stott's  paper-shop,  a  yard 
that,  unfortunately,  no  longer  exists.  It  has  been 
partly  built  over,  and  another  of  England's  me 
morials  has  thus  been  destroyed  by  the  vandals  of 
modern  commerce.  .  .  . 

This  yard  was  fifty-three  feet  long,  measuring 
from  Mrs.  Stott's  back  door  to  the  door  of  the  coal- 
shed,  which  marked  the  alley's  extreme  limit.  This 
measurement,  an  apparently  negligible  trifle,  had  an 
important  effect  upon  Stott's  career.  For  it  was  in 
this  yard  that  he  taught  himself  to  bowl,  and  the 
shortness  of  the  pitch  precluded  his  taking  any  run. 
From  those  long  studious  hours  of  practice  he 
emerged  with  a  characteristic  that  was — and  still 
remains — unique.  Stott  never  took  more  than  two 
steps  before  delivering  the  ball;  frequently  he 
bowled  from  a  standing  position,  and  batsmen  have 
confessed  that  of  all  Stott's  puzzling  mannerisms, 
this  was  the  one  to  which  they  never  became  accus 
tomed.  S.  R.  L.  Maturin,  the  finest  bat  Australia 
ever  sent  to  this  country,  has  told  me  that  to  this 
peculiarity  of  delivery  he  attributed  his  failure  ever 
to  score  freely  against  Stott.  It  completely  upset 
one's  habit  of  play,  he  said:  one  had  no  tune  to 
prepare  for  the  flight  of  the  ball ;  it  came  at  one  so 


32  THE  WONDER 

suddenly.  Other  bowlers  have  since  attempted  some 
imitation  of  this  method  without  success.  They 
had  not  Stott's  physical  advantages. 

Nevertheless,  the  shortness  of  that  alley  threw 
Stott  back  for  two  years.  When  he  first  emerged 
to  try  conclusions  on  the  field,  he  found  his  length 
on  the  longer  pitch  utterly  unreliable,  and  the  effort 
necessary  to  throw  the  ball  another  six  yards,  at 
first  upset  his  slowly  acquired  methods. 

It  was  not  until  he  was  twenty  years  old  that 
Ginger  Stott  played  in  his  first  Colts'  match. 

The  three  years  that  had  intervened  had  not  been 
prosperous  years  for  Hampdenshire.  Their  team 
was  a  one-man  team.  Bobby  Maisefield  was  develop 
ing  into  a  fine  bat  (and  other  counties  were  throw 
ing  out  inducements  to  him,  trying  to  persuade  him 
to  qualify  for  first-class  cricket),  but  he  found  no 
support,  and  Hampdenshire  was  never  looked  upon 
as  a  coming  county.  The  best  of  the  minor  counties 
in  those  years  were  Staffordshire  and  Norfolk. 

In  the  Colts'  match  Stott's  analysis  ran: 

overs  maidens  runs  wickets 

11-3  7  16  7 

and  reference  to  the  score-sheet,  which  is  still  pre 
served  among  the  records  of  the  County  Club,  shows 
that  six  of  the  seven  wickets  were  clean  bowled. 
The  Eleven  had  no  second  innings;  the  match  was 


GINGER  STOTT  33 

drawn,  owing  to  rain.  Stott  has  told  me  that  the 
Eleven  had  to  bat  on  a  dry  wicket,  but  after 
making  all  allowances,  the  performance  was  cer 
tainly  remarkable. 

After  this  match  Stott  was,  of  course,  played 
regularly.  That  year  Hampdenshire  rose  once  more 
to  their  old  position  at  the  head  of  the  minor  coun 
ties,  and  Maisefield,  who  had  been  seriously  con 
sidering  Surrey's  offer  of  a  place  in  their  Eleven 
after  two  years'  qualification  by  residence,  decided 
to  remain  with  the  county  which  had  given  him  Tiis 
first  chance. 

During  that  season  Stott  did  not  record  any  per 
formance  so  remarkable  as  his  feat  in  the  Colts' 
match,  but  his  record  for  the  year  was  eighty-seven 
wickets  with  an  average  of  9 '31 ;  and  it  is  worthy  of 
notice  that  Yorkshire  made  overtures  to  him,  as  he 
was  qualified  by  birth  to  play  for  the  northern 
county. 

I  think  there  must  have  been  a  wonderful  esprit 
de  corps  among  the  members  of  that  early  Hamp 
denshire  Eleven.  There  are  other  evidences  beside 
this  refusal  of  its  two  most  prominent  members  to 

join  the  ranks  of  first-class  cricket.  Lord  R , 

the  president  of  the  H.C.C.C.,  has  told  me  that  this 
spirit  was  quite  as  marked  as  in  the  earlier  case  of 
Kent.  He  himself  certainly  did  much  to  promote 
it,  and  his  generosity  in  making  good  the  deficits. 


34  THE  WONDER 

of  the  balance  sheet,  had  a  great  influence  on  the 
acceleration  of  Hampdenshire's  triumph. 

In  his  second  year,  though  Hampdenshire  were 
again  champions  of  the  second-class  counties,  Stott 
had  not  such  a  fine  average  as  in  the  preceding 
season.  Sixty-one  wickets  for  eight  hundred  and 
sixty-eight  (average  14 '#3)  seems  to  show  a  decline 
in  his  powers,  but  that  was  a  wonderful  year  for 
batsmen  (Maisefield  scored  seven  hundred  and  forty- 
two  runs,  with  an  average  of  forty-two)  and,  more 
over,  that  was  the  year  in  which  Stott  was  privately 
practising  his  new  theory. 

It  was  in  this  year  that  three  very  promising  re 
cruits,  all  since  become  famous,  joined  the  Eleven, 
viz.:  P.  H.  Evans,  St.  John  Townley,  and  Flower 
the  fast  bowler.  With  these  five  cricketers  Hamp 
denshire  fully  deserved  their  elevation  into  the  list 
of  first-class  counties.  Curiously  enough,  they  took 
the  place  of  the  old  champions,  Gloucestershire,  who, 
with  Somerset,  fell  back  into  the  obscurity  of  the 
second-class  that  season. 


I  must  turn  aside  for  a  moment  at  this  point  in 
order  to  explain  the  "new  theory"  of  Stott's,  to 
which  I  have  referred,  a  theory  which  became  in 


GINGER  STOTT  35 

practice  one  of  the  elements  of  his  most  astounding 
successes. 

Ginger  Stott  was  not  a  tall  man.  He  stood  only 
5  ft.  5^4  in.  in  his  socks,  but  he  was  tremendously 
solid;  he  had  what  is  known  as  a  "stocky"  figure, 
broad  and  deep-chested.  That  was  where  his  mus 
cular  power  lay,  for  his  abnormally  long  arms  were 
rather  thin,  though  his  huge  hands  were  powerful 
enough. 

Even  without  his  "new  theory,"  Stott  would  have 
been  an  exceptional  bowler.  His  thoroughness  would 
have  assured  his  success.  He  studied  his  art  dili 
gently,  and  practised  regularly  in  a  barn  through 
the  winter.  His  physique,  too,  was  a  magnificent 
instrument.  That  long,  muscular  body  was  superbly 
steady  on  the  short,  thick  legs.  It  gave  him  a 
fulcrum,  firm,  apparently  immovable.  And  those 
weirdly  long,  thin  arms  could  move  with  lightning 
rapidity.  He  always  stood  with  his  hands  behind 
him,  and  then — as  often  as  not  without  even  one 
preliminary  step — the  long  arm  would  flash  round 
and  the  ball  be  delivered,  without  giving  the  batsman 
any  opportunity  of  watching  his  hand;  you  could 
never  tell  which  way  he  was  going  to  break.  It  was 
astonishing,  too,  the  pace  he  could  get  without  any 
run.  Poor  Wallis  used  to  call  him  the  "human 
catapult";  \^allis  was  always  trying  to  find  new 
phrases. 


36  THE  WONDER 

The  theory  first  came  to  Stott  when  he  was  prac 
tising  at  the  nets.  It  was  a  windy  morning,  and  he 
noticed  that  several  times  the  balls  he  bowled 
swerved  in  the  air.  When  those  swerving  balls  came 
they  were  almost  unplayable. 

Stott  made  no  remark  to  any  one — he  was  bowling 
to  the  groundsman — but  the  ambition  to  bowl 
"swerves,"  *  as  they  were  afterwards  called,  took 
possession  of  him  from  that  morning.  It  is  true 
that  he  never  mastered  the  theory  completely;  on  a 
perfectly  calm  day  he  could  never  depend  upon  ob 
taining  any  swerve  at  all,  but,  within  limits,  he 
developed  his  theory  until  he  had  any  batsman  prac 
tically  at  his  mercy. 

He  might  have  mastered  the  theory  completely, 
had  it  not  been  for  his  accident — we  must  remember 
that  he  had  only  three  seasons  of  first-class  cricket 
— and,  personally,  I  believe  he  would  have  achieved 
that  complete  mastery.  But  I  do  not  believe,  as 
Stott  did,  that  he  could  have  taught  his  method  to 
another  man.  That  belief  became  an  obsession  with 
him,  and  will  be  dealt  with  later. 

My  own  reasons  for  doubting  that  Stott's 
"swerve"  could  have  been  taught,  is  that  it  would 

*  A  relatively  easy  task  for  the  baseball  thrower,  but  one 
very  difficult  of  accomplishment  for  the  English  bowler,  who  is 
not  permitted  by  the  laws  of  cricket  to  bend  his  elbow  in  deliv 
ering  the  ball. 


GINGER  STOTT  37 

have  been  necessary  for  the  pupil  to  have  had  Stott's 
peculiarities,  not  only  of  method,  but  of  physique. 
He  used  to  spin  the  ball  with  a  twist  of  his  middle 
finger  and  thumb,  just  as  you  may  see  a  billiard 
professional  spin  a  billiard  ball.  To  do  this  in  his 
manner,  it  is  absolutely  necessary  not  only  to  have 
a  very  large  and  muscular  hand,  but  to  have  very 
lithe  and  flexible  arm  muscles,  for  the  arm  is  moving 
rapidly  while  the  twist  is  given,  and  there  must  be 
no  antagonistic  muscular  action.  Further,  I  believe 
that  part  of  the  secret  was  due  to  the  fact  that  Stott 
bowled  from  a  standing  position.  Given  these 
things,  the  rest  is  merely  a  question  of  long  and 
assiduous  practice.  The  human  mechanism  is  mar 
vellously  adaptable.  I  have  seen  Stott  throw  a 
cricket  ball  half  across  the  room  with  sufficient  spin 
on  the  ball  to  make  it  shoot  back  to  him  along  the 
carpet. 

I  have  mentioned  the  wind  as  a  factor  in  obtaining 
the  swerve.  It  was  a  head-wind  that  Stott  required. 
I  have  seen  him,  for  sport,  toss  a  cricket  ball  into 
the  teeth  of  a  gale,  and  make  it  describe  the  trajec 
tory  of  a  badly  sliced  golf-ball.  This  is  why  the 
big  pavilion  at  Ailesworth  is  set  at  such  a  curious 
angle  to  the  ground.  It  was  built  in  the  winter  fol 
lowing  Hampdenshire's  second  season  of  first-class 
cricket,  and  it  was  so  placed  that  when  the  wickets 
were  pitched  in  a  line  with  it,  they  might  lie  south- 


38  THE  WONDER 

west  and  north-east,  or  in  the  direction  of  the  pre 
vailing  winds. 


The  first  time  I  ever  saw  Ginger  Stott,  was  on  the 
occasion  of  the  historic  encounter  with  Surrey; 
Hampdenshire's  second  engagement  in  first-class 
cricket.  The  match  with  Notts,  played  at  Trent 
Bridge  a  few  days  earlier,  had  not  foreshadowed  any 
startling  results.  The  truth  of  the  matter  is  that 
Stott  had  been  kept,  deliberately,  in  the  background ; 
and  as  matters  turned  out  his  services  were  only 
required  to  finish  off  Notts*  second  innings.  Stott 
was  even  then  a  marked  man,  and  the  Hampden- 
shire  captain  did  not  wish  to  advertise  his  meth 
ods  too  freely  before  the  Surrey  match.  Neither 
Archie  Findlater,  who  was  captaining  the  team  that 
year,  nor  any  other  person,  had  the  least  concep 
tion  of  how  unnecessary  such  a  reservation  was  to 
prove.  In  his  third  year,  when  Stott  had  been  stud 
ied  by  every  English,  Australian,  and  South  African 
batsman  of  any  note,  he  was  still  as  unplayable  as 
when  he  made  his  debut  in  first-class  cricket. 

I  was  reporting  the  Surrey  match  for  two  papers, 
and  in  company  with  poor  Wallis  interviewed  Stott 
before  the  first  innings. 

His  appearance  made  a  great  impression  on  me. 
I  have,  of  course,  met  him,  and  talked  with  him 


GINGER  STOTT  39 

many  times  since  then,  but  my  most  vivid  memory 
of  him  is  the  picture  recorded  in  the  inadequate 
professional  dressing-room  of  the  old  Ailesworth 
pavilion. 

I  have  turned  up  the  account  of  my  interview  in 
an  old  press-cutting  book,  and  I  do  not  know  that 
I  can  do  better  than  quote  that  part  of  it  which 
describes  Stott's  personal  appearance.  I  wrote  the 
account  on  the  off  chance  of  being  able  to  get  it 
taken.  It  was  one  of  my  lucky  hits.  After  that 
match,  finished  in  a  single  day,  my  interview  afforded 
copy  that  any  paper  would  have  paid  heavily  for, 
and  gladly. 

Here  is  the  description: 

"Stott — he  is  known  to  every  one  in  Ailesworth 
as  'Ginger'  Stott — is  a  short,  thick-set  young  man, 
with  abnormally  long  arms  that  are  tanned  a  rich 
red  up  to  the  elbow.  The  tan  does  not,  however, 
obliterate  the  golden  freckles  with  which  arm  and 
face  are  richly  speckled.  There  is  no  need  to  specu 
late  as  to  the  raison  d'etre  of  his  nickname.  The 
hair  of  his  head,  a  close,  short  crop,  is  a  pale  rus 
set,  and  the  hair  on  his  hands  and  arms  is  a  yel 
lower  shade  of  the  same  colour.  'Ginger'  is,  indeed, 
a  perfectly  apt  description.  He  has  a  square  chin 
and  a  thin-lipped,  determined  mouth.  His  eyes  are 
a  clear,  but  rather  light  blue,  his  forehead  is  good, 


40  THE  WONDER 

broad,  and  high,  and  he  has  a  well-proportioned 
head.  One  might  have  put  him  down  as  an  engineer, 
essentially  intelligent,  purposeful,  and  reserved." 

The  description  is  journalistic,  but  I  do  not  know 
that  I  could  improve  upon  the  detail  of  it.  I  can 
see  those  queer,  freckled,  hairy  arms  of  his  as  I 
write — the  combination  of  colours  in  them  produced 
an  effect  that  was  almost  orange.  It  struck  one  as 
unusual.  .  .  . 

Surrey  had  the  choice  of  innings,  and  decided  to 
bat,  despite  the  fact  that  the  wicket  was  drying 
after  rain,  under  the  influence  of  a  steady  south 
west  wind  and  occasional  bursts  of  sunshine.  Would 
any  captain  in  Stott's  second  year  have  dared  to 
take  first  innings  under  such  conditions?  The  ques 
tion  is  farcical  now,  but  not  a  single  member  of 
the  Hampdenshire  Eleven  had  the  least  conception 
that  the  Surrey  captain  was  deliberately  throwing 
away  his  chances  on  that  eventful  day. 

Wallis  and  I  were  sitting  together  in  the  report- 
fers*  box.  There  were  only  four  of  us ;  two  specials, 
— Wallis  and  myself, — a  news-agency  reporter,  and 
a  local  man. 

"Stott  takes  first  over,"  remarked  Wallis,  sharp 
ening  his  pencil  and  arranging  his  watch  and  score- 
sheet — he  was  very  meticulous  in  his  methods. 


GINGER  STOTT  41 

"They've  put  him  to  bowl  against  the  wind.  He's 
medium  right,  isn't  he?" 

"Haven't  the  least  idea,"  I  said.  "He  volun 
teered  no  information;  Hampdenshire  have  been 
keeping  him  dark." 

Wallis  sneered.  "Think  they've  got  a  find,  eh?" 
he  said.  "We'll  wait  and  see  what  he  can  do  against 
first-class  batting." 

We  did  not  have  to  wait  long. 

As  usual,  Thorpe  and  Harrison  were  first  wicket 
for  Surrey,  and  Thorpe  took  the  first  ball. 

It  bowled  him.  It  made  his  wicket  look  as  untidy 
as  any  wicket  I  have  ever  seen.  The  off  stump  was 
out  of  the  ground,  and  the  other  two  were  markedly 
divergent. 

"Damn  it,  I  wasn't  ready  for  him,"  we  heard 
Thorpe  say  in  the  professionals'  room.  Thorpe  al 
ways  had  some  excuse,  but  on  this  occasion  it  was 
justified. 

C.  V.  Punshon  was  the  next  comer,  and  he  got 
his  first  ball  through  the  slips  for  four,  but  Wallis 
looked  at  me  with  a  raised  eyebrow. 

"Punshon  didn't  know  a  lot  about  that,"  he  said, 
and  then  he  added,  "I  say,  what  a  queer  delivery 
the  chap  has.  He  stands  and  shoots  'em  out.  It's 
uncanny.  He's  a  kind  of  human  catapult."  He 
made  a  note  of  the  phrase  on  his  pad. 

Punshon  succeeded  in  hitting  the  next  ball,  also, 


42  THE  WONDER 

but  it  simply  ran  up  his  bat  into  the  hands  of  short 
slip. 

"Well,  that's  a  sitter,  if  you  like,"  said  Wallis. 
"What's  the  matter  with  'em?" 

I  was  beginning  to  grow  enthusiastic. 

"Look  here,  Wallis,"  I  said,  "this  chap's  going  to 
break  records." 

Wallis  was  still  doubtful. 

He  was  convinced  before  the  innings  was  over. 

There  must  be  many  who  remember  the  startling 
poster  that  heralded  the  early  editions  of  the  evening 
papers : 


SURREY 

AI/L   OUT 
FOR  13  RUNS. 

For  once  sub-editors  did  not  hesitate  to  give  the 
score  on  the  contents  bill.  That  was  a  proclama 
tion  which  would  sell.  Inside,  the  headlines  were 
rich  and  varied.  I  have  an  old  paper  by  me,  yel 
low  now,  and  brittle,  that  may  serve  as  a  type  for 
the  rest.  The  headlines  are  as  follows : — 


GINGER  STOTT  43 

SURREY    AND    HAMPDENSHIRE. 


EXTRAORDINARY  BOWLING 
PERFORMANCE. 


DOUBLE    HAT-TRICK. 


SURREY   ALL    OUT   IN    35   MINUTES 
FOR   13   RUNS. 


STOTT   TAKES    10   WICKETS    FOR   5. 

The  "double  hat-trick"  was  six  consecutive  wick 
ets,  the  last  six,  all  clean  bowled. 

"Good  God!"  Wallis  said,  when  the  last  wicket 
fell,  and  he  looked  at  me  with  something  like  fear  in 
his  eyes.  "This  man  will  have  to  be  barred;  it 
means  the  end  of  cricket." 


VI 

Stott's  accident  came  during  the  high  flood  of 
Hampdenshire  success.  For  two  years  they  held 
undisputed  place  as  champion  county,  a  place  which 
could  not  be  upset  by  the  most  ingenious  methods  of 
calculating  points.  They  three  times  defeated  Aus- 


44  THE  WONDER 

tralia,  and  played  four  men  in  the  test  matches. 
As  a  team  they  were  capable  of  beating  any  Eleven 
opposed  to  them.  Not  even  the  newspaper  critics 
denied  that. 

The  accident  appeared  insignificant  at  the  time. 
The  match  was  against  Notts  on  the  Trent  Bridge 
ground.  I  was  reporting  for  three  papers;  Wallis 
was  not  there. 

Stott  had  been  taken  off.  Notts  were  a  poor  lot 
that  year  and  I  think  Findlater  did  not  wish  to 
make  their  defeat  appear  too  ignominious.  Flower 
was  bowling;  it  was  a  fast,  true  wicket,  and  Stott, 
who  was  a  safe  field,  was  at  cover-point. 

G.  L.  Mallinson  was  batting  and  making  good 
use  of  his  opportunity;  he  was,  it  will  be  remem 
bered,  a  magnificent  though  erratic  hitter.  Flower 
bowled  him  a  short-pitched,  fast  ball,  rather  wide 
of  the  off -stump.  Many  men  might  have  left  it  alone, 
for  the  ball  was  rising,  and  the  slips  were  crowded, 
but  Mallinson  timed  the  ball  splendidly,  and  drove 
it  with  all  his  force.  He  could  not  keep  it  on  the 
ground,  however,  and  Stott  had  a  possible  chance. 
He  leaped  for  it  and  just  touched  the  ball  with  his 
right  hand.  The  ball  jumped  the  ring  at  its  first 
bound,  and  Mallinson  never  even  attempted  to  run. 
There  was  a  big  round  of  applause  from  the  Trent 
Bridge  crowd. 

I  noticed  that  Stott  had  tied  a  handkerchief  round 


GINGER  STOTT  45 

his  finger,  but  I  forgot  the  incident  until  I  saw 
Findlater  beckon  to  his  best  bowler,  a  few  overs 
later.  Notts  had  made  enough  runs  for  decency;  it 
was  time  to  get  them  out. 

I  saw  Stott  walk  up  to  Findlater  and  shake  his 
head,  and  through  my  glasses  I  saw  him  whip  the 
handkerchief  from  his  finger  and  display  his  hand. 
Findlater  frowned,  said  something  and  looked 
towards  the  pavilion,  but  Stott  shook  his  head.  He 
evidently  disagreed  with  Findlater's  proposal.  Then 
Mallinson  came  up,  and  the  great  bulk  of  his  back 
hid  the  faces  of  the  other  two.  The  crowd  was 
beginning  to  grow  excited  at  the  interruption. 
Every  one  had  guessed  that  something  was  wrong. 
All  round  the  ring  men  were  standing  up,  trying  to 
make  out  what  was  going  on. 

I  drew  my  inferences  from  Mallinson's  face,  for 
when  he  turned  round  and  strolled  back  to  his 
wicket,  he  was  wearing  a  broad  smile.  Through 
my  field  glasses  I  could  see  that  he  was  licking  his 
lower  lip  with  his  tongue.  His  shoulders  were 
humped  and  his  whole  expression  one  of  barely  con 
trolled  glee.  (I  always  see  that  picture  framed  in 
a  circle;  a  bioscopic  presentation.)  He  could 
hardly  refrain  from  dancing.  Then  little  Beale,  who 
was  Mallinson's  partner,  came  up  and  spoke  to  him, 
and  I  saw  Mallinson  hug  himself  with  delight  as  he 
explained  the  situation. 


46  THE  WONDER 

When  Stott  unwillingly  came  back  to  the  pavilion, 
a  low  murmur  ran  round  the  ring,  like  the  buzz  of 
a  great  crowd  of  disturbed  blue  flies.  In  that  mur 
mur  I  .could  distinctly  trace  the  signs  of  mixed 
feelings.  No  doubt  the  crowd  had  come  there  to 
witness  the  performances  of  the  new  phenomenon — 
the  abnormal  of  every  kind  has  a  wonderful  attrac 
tion  for  us — but,  on  the  other  hand,  the  majority 
wanted  to  see  their  own  county  win.  Moreover, 
Mallinson  was  giving  them  a  taste  of  his  abnormal 
powers  of  hitting,  and  the  batsman  appeals  to  the 
spectacular,  more  than  the  bowler. 

I  ran  down  hurriedly  to  meet  Stott. 

"Only  a  split  finger,  sir,"  he  said  carelessly,  in 
answer  to  my  question;  "but  Mr.  Findlater  says  I 
must  see  to  it." 

I  examined  the  finger,  and  it  certainly  did  not 
seem  to  call  for  surgical  aid.  Evidently  it  had  been 
caught  by  the  seam  of  the  new  ball ;  there  was  a 
fairly  clean  cut  about  half  an  inch  long  on  the  fleshy 
underside  of  the  second  joint  of  the  middle  finger. 

"Better  have  it  seen  to,"  I  said.  "We  can't  af 
ford  to  lose  you,  you  know,  Stott." 

Stott  gave  a  laugh  that  was  more  nearly  a  snarl. 
"Ain't  the  first  time  I've  'ad  a  cut  finger,"  he  said 
scornfully. 

He  had  the  finger  bound  up  when  I  saw  him  again, 
but  it  had  been  done  by  an  amateur.  I  learnt  after- 


GINGER  STOTT  47 

wards  that  no  antiseptic  had  been  used.  That  was 
at  lunch  time,  and  Notts  had  made  a  hundred  and 
sixty-eight  for  one  wicket;  Mallinson  was  not  out, 
a  hundred  and  three.  I  saw  that  the  Notts  Eleven 
were  in  magnificent  spirits. 

But  after  lunch  Stott  came  out  and  took  the  first 
over.  I  don't  know  what  had  passed  between  him 
and  Findlater,  but  the  captain  had  evidently  been 
over-persuaded. 

We  must  not  blame  Findlater.  The  cut  certainly 
appeared  trifling,  it  was  not  bad  enough  to  prevent 
Stott  from  bowling,  and  Hampdenshire  seemed  pow 
erless  on  that  wicket  without  him.  It  is  very  easy 
to  distribute  blame  after  the  event,  but  most  people 
would  have  done  what  Findlater  did  in  those  cir 
cumstances. 

The  cut  did  not  appear  to  inconvenience  Stott  in 
the  least  degree.  He  bowled  Mallinson  with  his 
second  ball,  and  the  innings  was  finished  up  in  an 
other  fifty-seven  minutes  for  the  addition  of  thirty- 
eight  runs. 

Hampdenshire  made  two  hundred  and  thirty-seven 
for  three  wickets  before  the  drawing  of  stumps,  and 
that  was  the  end  of  the  match,  for  the  weather 
changed  during  the  night  and  rain  prevented  any 
further  play. 

I,  of  course,  stayed  on  in  Nottingham  to  await 
results.  I  saw  Stott  on  the  next  day,  Friday,  and 


48  THE  WONDER 

asked  him  about  his  finger.  He  made  light  of  it, 
but  that  evening  Findlater  told  me  over  the  bridge- 
table  that  he  was  not  happy  about  it.  He  had  seen 
the  finger,  and  thought  it  showed  a  tendency  to  in 
flammation.  "I  shall  take  him  to  Gregory  in  the 
morning  if  it's  not  all  right,"  he  said.  Gregory  was 
a  well-known  surgeon  in  Nottingham. 

Again  one  sees,  now,  that  the  visit  to  Gregory 
should  not  have  been  postponed,  but  at  the  time 
one  does  not  take  extraordinary  precautions  in  such 
a  case  as  this.  A  split  finger  is  such  an  everyday 
thing,  and  one  is  guided  by  the  average  of  experi 
ence.  After  all,  if  one  were  constantly  to  make 
preparation  for  the  abnormal;  ordinary  life  could 
not  go  on.  .  .  . 

I  heard  that  Gregory  pursed  his  lips  over  that 
finger  when  he  had  learned  the  name  of  his  famous 
patient.  "You'll  have  to  be  very  careful  of  this, 
young  man,"  was  Findlater's  report  of  Gregory's  ad 
vice.  It  was  not  sufficient.  I  often  wonder  now 
whether  Gregory  might  not  have  saved  the  finger. 
If  he  had  performed  some  small  operation  at  once, 
cut  away  the  poison,  it  seems  to  me  that  the  tragedy 
might  have  been  averted.  I  am,  I  admit,  a  mere 
layman  in  these  matters,  but  it  seems  to  me  that 
something  might  have  been  done. 

I  left  Nottingham  on  Saturday  after  lunch — the 
weather  was  hopeless — and  I  did  not  make  use  of 


GINGER  STOTT  49 

the  information  I  had  for  the  purposes  of  my  paper. 
I  was  never  a  good  journalist.  But  I  went  down 
to  Ailesworth  on  Monday  morning,  and  found  that 
Findlater  and  Stott  had  already  gone  to  Harley 
Street  to  see  Graves,  the  King's  surgeon. 

I  followed  them,  and  arrived  at  Graves's  house 
while  Stott  was  in  the  consulting-room.  I  hocussed 
the  butler  and  waited  with  the  patients.  Among 
the  papers,  I  came  upon  the  famous  caricature  of 
Stott  in  the  current  number  of  Punch — the  "Stand- 
and-Deliver"  caricature,  in  which  Stott  is  repre 
sented  with  an  arm  about  ten  feet  long,  and  the 
batsman  is  looking  wildly  over  his  shoulder  to  square 
leg,  bewildered,  with  no  conception  from  what  di 
rection  the  ball  is  coming.  Underneath  is  written 
"Stott's  New  Theory — the  Ricochet.  Real  Ginger." 
While  I  was  laughing  over  the  cartoon,  the  butler 
came  in  and  nodded  to  me.  I  followed  him  out  of 
the  room  and  met  Findlater  and  Stott  in  the  hall. 

Findlater  was  in  a  state  of  profanity.  I  could  not 
get  a  sensible  word  out  of  him.  He  was  in  a  white 
heat  of  pure  rage.  The  butler,  who  seemed  as  anx 
ious  as  I  to  learn  the  verdict,  was  positively  fright 
ened. 

"Well,  for  God's  sake  tell  me  what  Graves  said," 
I  protested. 

Findlater's  answer  is  unprintable,  and  told  me 
nothing. 


50  THE  WONDER 

Stott,  however,  quite  calm  and  self-possessed,  vol 
unteered  the  information.  "Finger's  got  to  come 
off,  sir,"  he  said  quietly.  "Doctor  says  if  it  ain't 
off  to-day  or  to-morrer,  he  won't  answer  for  my 
'and." 

This  was  the  news  I  had  to  give  to  England.  It 
was  a  great  coup  from  the  journalistic  point  of 
view,  but  I  made  up  my  three  columns  with  a  heavy 
heart,  and  the  congratulations  of  my  editor  only 
sickened  me.  I  had  some  luck,  but  I  should  never 
have  become  a  good  journalist. 

The  operation  was  performed  successfully  that 
evening,  and  Stott's  career  was  closed. 


VII 


I  did  not  see  Stott  again  till  August,  and  then  I 
had  a  long  talk  with  him  on  the  Ailesworth  County 
Ground,  as  together  we  watched  the  progress  of 
Hampdenshire's  defeat  by  Lancashire. 

"Oh!  I  can't  learn  him  nothing,"  he  broke  out, 
as  Flower  was  hit  to  the  four  corners  of  the  ground, 
"  'alf  vollies  and  long  'ops  and  then  a  full  pitch — 'e's 
a  disgrace." 

"They've  knocked  him  off  his  length,"  I  pro 
tested.  "On  a  wicket  like  this  .  .  ." 

Stott  shook  his  head.     "I've  been  trying  to  learn 


GINGER  STOTT  51 

'im,"  he  said,  "but  he  can't  never  learn.  'E's  got 
'abits  what  you  can't  break  'im  of." 

"I  suppose  it  is  difficult,"  I  said  vaguely. 

"Same  with  me,"  went  on  Stott,  "I've  been  trying 
to  learn  myself  to  bowl  without  my  finger" — he  held 
up  his  mutilated  hand — "or  left-'anded ;  but  I  can't. 
If  I'd  started  that  way  .  .  .  No !  I'm  always  feel 
ing  for  that  finger  as  is  gone.  A  second-class  bowler 
I  might  be  in  time,  not  better  nor  that." 

"It's  early  days  yet,"  I  ventured,  intending  en 
couragement,  but  Stott  frowned  and  shook  his  head. 

"I'm  not  going  to  kid  myself,"  he  said,  "I  know. 
But  I'm  going  to  find  a  youngster  and  learn  'im. 
On'y  he  must  be  young." 

"No  'abits,  you  know,"  he  explained. 

The  next  time  I  met  Stott  was  in  November.  I 
ran  up  against  him,  literally,  one  Friday  afternoon 
in  Ailes worth. 

When  he  recognised  me  he  asked  me  if  I  would 
care  to  walk  out  to  Stoke-Underhill  with  him.  "I've 
took  a  cottage  there,"  he  explained,  "I'm  to  be  mar 
ried  in  a  fortnight's  time." 

His  circumstances  certainly  warranted  such  a  ven 
ture.  The  proceeds  of  matinee  and  benefit,  invested 
for  him  by  the  Committee  of  the  County  Club,  pro 
duced  an  income  of  nearly  two  pounds  a  week,  and 
in  addition  to  this  he  had  his  salary  as  groundsman. 
I  tendered  my  congratulations. 


52  THE  WONDER 

"Oh!  well,  as  to  that,  better  wait  a  bit,"  said 
Stott. 

He  walked  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets  and  his 
eyes  on  the  ground.  He  had  the  air  of  a  man 
brooding  over  some  project. 

"It  is  a  lottery,  of  course  ..."  I  began,  but  he 
•  interrupted  me. 

"Oh  that!"  he  said,  and  kicked  a  stone  into  the 
ditch;  "take  my  chances  of  that.  It's  the  kid  I'm 
thinking  on." 

"The  kid?"  I  repeated,  doubtful  whether  he 
spoke  of  his  fiancee,  or  whether  his  nuptials  pointed 
an  act  of  reparation. 

"What  else  'ud  I  tie  myself  up  for?"  asked  Stott. 
**I  must  'ave  a  kid  of  my  own  and  learn  'im  from  his 
cradle.  It's  come  to  that." 

"Oh!  I  understand,"  I  said;  "teach  him  to  bowl." 

"Ah!"  replied  Stott  as  an  affirmative.  "Learn 
'im  from  his  cradle;  before  'e's  got  'abits.  When  I 
started  I'd  never  bowled  a  ball  in  my  life,  and  by 
good  luck  I  started  right.  But  I  can't  find  another 
kid  over  seven  years  old  in  England  as  ain't  never 
bowled  a  ball  o'  some  sort  and  started  'abits.  I've 
tried  .  .  ." 

"And  you  hope  with  your  own  boys  .  .  .  ?"  I 
said. 

"Not  'ope,  it's  a  cert,"  said  Stott.  "I'll  see  no 
boy  of  mine  touches  a  ball  afore  he's  fourteen,  and 


GINGER  STOTT  53 

then  Vll  learn  from  me ;  and  learn  right.  From  the 
first  go  off."  He  was  silent  for  a  few  seconds,  and 
then  he  broke  out  in  a  kind  of  ecstasy.  "My  Gawd, 
'e'll  be  a  bowler  such  as  'as  never  been,  never  in  this 
world.  He'll  start  where  I  left  orf.  He'll  .  .  ." 
Words  failed  him,  he  fell  back  on  the  expletive  he 
had  used,  repeating  it  with  an  awed  fervour.  "My 
Gawd !" 

I  had  never  seen  Stott  in  this  mood  before.  It 
was  a  revelation  to  me  of  the  latent  potentialities  of 
the  man,  the  remarkable  depth  and  quality  of  his 
ambitions.  .  .  . 


vm 


I  intended  to  be  present  at  Stott's  wedding,  but 
I  was  not  in  England  when  it  took  place;  indeed, 
for  the  next  two  years  and  a  half  I  was  never  in 
England  for  more  than  a  few  days  at  a  time.  I  sent 
him  a  wedding-present,  an  inkstand  in  the  guise  of 
a  cricket  ball,  with  a  pen-rack  that  was  built  of  lit 
tle  silver  wickets.  They  were  still  advertised  that 
Christmas  as  "Stott  inkstands." 

Two  years  and  a  half  of  American  life  broke  up 
many  of  my  old  habits  of  thought.  When  I  first 
returned  to  London  I  found  that  the  cricket  news 
no  longer  held  the  same  interest  for  me,  and  this 


54  THE  WONDER 

may  account  for  the  fact  that  I  did  not  trouble  for 
some  time  to  look  up  my  old  friend  Stott. 

In  July,  however,  affairs  took  me  to  Ailesworth, 
and  the  associations  of  the  place  naturally  led  me  to 
wonder  how  Stott's  marriage  had  turned  out,  and 
whether  the  much-desired  son  had  been  born  to  him. 
When  my  business  in  Ailesworth  was  done,  I  decided 
to  walk  out  to  Stoke-Underhill. 

The  road  passes  the  County  Ground,  and  a  match 
was  in  progress,  but  I  walked  by  without  stopping. 
I  was  wool-gathering.  I  was  not  thinking  of  the 
man  I  was  going  to  see,  or  I  should  have  turned  in 
at  the  County  Ground,  where  he  would  inevitably 
have  been  found.  Instead,  I  was  thinking  of  the 
abnormal  child  I  had  seen  in  the  train  that  day; 
uselessly  speculating  and  wondering. 

When  I  reached  Stoke-Underhill  I  found  the  cot 
tage  which  Stott  had  shown  me.  I  had  by  then  so 
far  recovered  my  wits  as  to  know  that  I  should  not 
find  Stott  himself  there,  but  from  the  look  of  the 
cottage  I  judged  that  it  was  untenanted,  so  I  made 
inquiries  at  the  post-office. 

"No;  he  don't  live  here,  now,  sir,"  said  the  post 
mistress  ;  "he  lives  at  Pym,  now,  sir,  and  rides  into 
Ailesworth  on  his  bike."  She  was  evidently  about 
to  furnish  me  with  other  particulars,  but  I  did  not 
care  to  hear  them.  I  was  moody  and  distrait.  I 


GINGER  STOTT  55 

was  wondering  why  I  should  bother  my  head  about 
so  insignificant  a  person  as  this  Stott. 

"You'll  be  sure  to  find  Mr.  Stott  at  the  cricket 
ground,"  the  postmistress  called  after  me. 

Another  two  months  of  English  life  induced  a 
return  to  my  old  habits  of  thought.  I  found  myself 
reverting  to  old  tastes  and  interests.  The  reversion 
was  a  pleasant  one.  In  the  States  I  had  been  forced 
out  of  my  groove,  compelled  to  work,  to  strive,  to 
think  desperately  if  I  would  maintain  any  standing 
among  my  contemporaries.  But  when  the  perpetual 
stimulus  was  removed,  I  soon  fell  back  to  the  less 
strenuous  methods  of  my  own  country.  I  had  time, 
once  more,  for  the  calm  reflection  that  is  so  unlike 
the  urgent,  forced,  inventive  thought  of  the  Ameri 
can  journalist.  I  was  braced  by  that  thirty  months* 
experience,  perhaps  hardened  a  little,  but  by  Sep 
tember  my  American  life  was  fading  into  the  back 
ground;  I  had  begun  to  take  an  interest  in  cricket 
again. 

With  the  revival  of  my  old  interests,  revived  also 
my  curiosity  as  to  Ginger  Stott,  and  one  Sunday  in 
late  September  I  decided  to  go  down  to  Pym. 

It  was  a  perfect  day,  and  I  thoroughly  enjoyed 
my  four-mile  walk  from  Great  Hittenden  Station. 

Pym  is  a  tiny  hamlet  made  up  of  three  farms  and 
a  dozen  scattered  cottages.  Perched  on  one  of  the 
highest  summits  of  the  Hampden  Hills  and  lost  in 


56  THE  WONDER 

the  thick  cover  of  beech  woods,  without  a  post-office 
or  a  shop,  Pym  is  the  most  perfectly  isolated  village 
within  a  reasonable  distance  of  London.  As  I 
sauntered  up  the  mile-long  lane  that  climbs  the 
steep  hill,  and  is  the  only  connection  between  Pym 
and  anything  approaching  a  decent  road,  I  thought 
that  this  was  the  place  to  which  I  should  like  to 
retire  for  a  year,  in  order  to  write  the  book  I  had  so 
often  contemplated,  and  never  found  time  to  begin. 
This,  I  reflected,  was  a  place  of  peace,  of  freedom 
from  all  distraction,  the  place  for  calm,  contem 
plative  meditation. 

I  met  no  one  in  the  lane,  and  there  was  no  sign  of 
life  when  I  reached  what  I  must  call  the  village, 
though  the  word  conveys  a  wrong  idea,  for  there  is 
no  street,  merely  a  cottage  here  and  there,  dropped 
haphazard,  and  situated  without  regard  to  its 
aspect.  These  cottages  lie  all  on  one's  left  hand; 
to  the  right  a  stretch  of  grass  soon  merges  into 
bracken  and  bush,  and  then  the  beech  woods  enclose 
both,  and  surge  down  into  the  valley  and  rise  up 
again  beyond,  a  great  wave  of  green ;  as  I  saw  it 
then,  not  yet  touched  with  the  first  flame  of  autumn. 

I  inquired  at  the  first  cottage  and  received  my 
direction  to  Stott's  dwelling.  It  lay  up  a  little  lane, 
the  further  of  two  cottages  joined  together. 

The  door  stood  open,  and  after  a  moment's  hesi 
tation  and  a  light  knock,  I  peered  in. 


GINGER  STOTT  57 

Sitting  in  a  rocking-chair  was  a  woman  with  black, 
untidy  eyebrows,  and  on  her  knee,  held  with  rigid 
attention,  was  the  remarkable  baby  I  had  seen  in 
the  train  two  months  before.  As  I  stood,  doubtful 
and,  I  will  confess  it,  intimidated,  suddenly  cold  and 
nervous,  the  child  opened  his  eyes  and  honoured 
me  with  a  cold  stare.  Then  he  nodded,  a  reflective, 
recognisable  nod. 

"  'E  remembers  seem'  you  in  the  train,  sir,"  said 
the  woman,  "  'e  never  forgets  any  one.  Did  you 
want  to  see  my  'usband?  'E's  upstairs." 

So  this  was  the  boy  who  was  designed  by  Stott  to 
become  the  greatest  bowler  the  world  had  ever 
seen. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE    DISILLUSIONMENT    OF    GINGER    STOTT 


STOTT  maintained  an  obstinate  silence  as  we  walked 
together  up  to  the  Common,  a  stretch  of  compara 
tively  open  ground  on  the  plateau  of  the  hill.  He 
walked  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets  and  his  head 
down,  as  he  had  walked  out  from  Ailesworth  with 
me  nearly  three  years  before,  but  his  mood  was 
changed.  I  was  conscious  that  he  was  gloomy,  de 
pressed,  perhaps  a  little  unstrung.  I  was  burning 
with  curiosity.  Now  that  I  was  released  from  the 
thrall  of  the  child's  presence,  I  was  eager  to  hear  all 
there  was  to  tell  of  its  history. 

Presently  we  sat  down  under  an  ash-tree,  one  of 
three  that  guarded  a  shallow,  muddy  pond  skimmed 
with  weed.  Stott  accepted  my  offer  of  a  cigarette, 
but  seemed  disinclined  to  break  the  silence. 

I  found  nothing  better  to  say  than  a  repetition  of 
the  old  phrase.  "That's  a  very  remarkable  baby  of 
yours,  Stott,"  I  said. 

"Ah!"  he  replied,  his  usual  substitute  for  "yes," 
58 


STOTT'S  DISILLUSIONMENT  59 

and  he  picked  up  a  piece  of  dead  wood  and  threw  it 
into  the  little  pond. 

"How  old  is  he?"  I  asked. 

"Nearly   two    year." 

"Can  he  ..."  I  paused;  ray  imagination  was 
reconstructing  the  scene  of  the  railway  carriage, 
and  I  felt  a  reflex  of  the  hesitation  shown  by  the 
rubicund  man  when  he  had  asked  the  same  question. 
"Can  he  ...  can  he  talk?"  It  seemed  so  absurd 
a  question  to  ask,  yet  it  was  essentially  a  natural 
question  in  the  circumstances. 

"He  can,  but  he  won't." 

This  was  startling  enough,  and  I  pressed  my  en 
quiry. 

"How  do  you  know?     Are  you  sure  he  can?" 

"Ah !"     Only  that  irritating,  monosyllabic  assent. 

"Look  here,  Stott,"  I  said,  "don't  you  want  to 
talk  about  the  child?" 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  threw  more  wood 
into  the  pond  with  a  strained  attentiveness  as  though 
he  were  peculiarly  anxious  to  hit  some  particular 
wafer  of  the  vivid,  floating  weed.  For  a  full  five 
minutes  we  maintained  silence.  I  was  trying  to 
subdue  my  impatience  and  my  temper.  I  knew  Stott 
well  enough  to  know  that  if  I  displayed  signs  of 
either,  I  should  get  no  information  from  him.  My 
self-control  was  rewarded  at  last. 


60  THE  WONDER 

"I've  'eard  'im  speak,"  he  said,  "speak  proper, 
too,  not  like  a  baby." 

He  paused,  and  I  grunted  to  show  that  I  was 
listening,  but  as  he  volunteered  no  further  remark, 
I  said:  "What  did  you  hear  him  say?" 

"I  dunno,"  replied  Stott,  "somethin'  about 
learnin'  and  talkin'.  I  didn't  get  the  rights  of  it, 
but  the  missus  near  fainted — she  thinks  'e's  Gawd 
A'mighty  or  suthing." 

"But  why  don't  you  make  him  speak?"  I  asked 
deliberately. 

"Make  'im!"  said  Stott,  with  a  curl  of  his  lip, 
"make  'im!  You  try  it  on!" 

I  knew  I  was  acting  a  part,  but  I  wanted  to  pro 
voke  more  information.  "Well!  Why  not?"  I  said. 

"  'Cos  Vd  look  at  you — that's  why  not,"  replied 
Stott,  "and  you  can't  no  more  face  'im  than  a  dog 
can  face  a  man.  I  shan't  stand  it  much  longer." 

"Curious,"  I  said,  "very  curious." 

"Oh !  he's  a  blarsted  freak,  that's  what  'e  is,"  said 
Stott,  getting  to  his  feet  and  beginning  to  pace 
moodily  up  and  down. 

I  did  not  interrupt  him.  I  was  thinking  of  this 
man  who  had  drawn  huge  crowds  from  every  part 
of  England,  who  had  been  a  national  hero,  and  who, 
now,  was  unable  to  face  his  own  child.  Presently 
Stott  broke  out  again. 

"To  think  of  all  the  trouble  I  took  when  'e  was 


STOTT'S  DISILLUSIONMENT  61 

comin',"  he  said,  stopping  in  front  of  me.  "There 
was  nothin'  the  missus  fancied  as  I  wouldn't  get. 
We  was  livin'  in  Stoke  then."  He  made  a  move 
ment  of  his  head  in  the  direction  of  Ailesworth. 
"Not  as  she  was  difficult,"  he  went  on  thoughtfully. 
"She  used  to  say  'I  mussent  get  'abits,  George.' 
Caught  that  from  me;  I  was  always  on  about  that 
— then.  You  know,  thinkin'  of  learnin'  'im  bowlin'. 
Things  was  different  then;  afore  *e  came."  He 
paused  again,  evidently  thinking  of  his  troubles. 

Sympathetically,  I  was  wondering  how  far  the 
child  had  separated  husband  and  wife.  There  was 
the  making  of  a  tragedy  here,  I  thought;  but  when 
Stott,  after  another  period  of  pacing  up  and  down, 
began  to  speak  again  I  found  that  his  tragedy  was 
of  another  kind. 

"Learn  'im  bowling!"  he  said,  and  laughed  a 
mirthless  laugh.  "My  Gawd !  it  'ud  take  some 
thing.  No  fear ;  that  little  game's  off.  And  I  could 
a'  done  it  if  he'd  been  a  decent  or'nery  child,  'stead 
of  a  blarsted  freak.  There  won't  never  be  another, 
neither.  This  one  pretty  near  killed  the  missus. 
Doctor  said  it'd  be  'er  last.  .  .  .  With  an  'ead  like 
that,  whacher  expect?" 

"Can  he  walk?"  I  asked. 

"Ah!  Gets  about  easy  enough  for  all  'is  body 
and  legs  is  so  small.  When  the  missus  tries  to  stop 


62  THE  WONDER 

'im — she's  afraid  'e'll  go  over — 'e  just  looks  at  'er 
and  she  'as  to  let  'im  'ave  'is  own  way." 


Later,  I  reverted  to  that  speech  of  the  child's,  that 
intelligent,  illuminating  speech  that  seemed  to  prove 
that  there  was  indeed  a  powerful,  thoughtful  mind 
behind  those  profoundly  speculative  eyes. 

"That  time  he  spoke,  Stott,"  I  said,  "was  he 
alone?" 

"Ah!"  assented  Stott.  "In  the  garden,  prac- 
tisin'  walkin'  all  by  'imself." 

"Was  that  the  only  time?" 

"Only  time  I've  'card  'im." 

"Was  it  lately?" 

"  'Bout  six  weeks  ago." 

"And  he  has  never  made  a  sound  otherwise,  cried, 
laughed  ?" 

"  'Ardly.  'E  gives  a  sort  o'  grunt  sometimes, 
when  'e  wants  anything — and  points." 

"He's  very  intelligent." 

"Worse  than  that,  'e's  a  freak,  I  tell  you." 

With  the  repetition  of  this  damning  description, 
Stott  fell  back  into  his  moody  pacing,  and  this  time 
I  failed  to  rouse  him  from  his  gloom.  "Oh!  forget 
it,"  he  broke  out  once,  when  I  asked  him  another 


STOTT'S  DISILLUSIONMENT  63 

question,  and  I  saw  that  he  was  not  likely  to  give 
me  any  more  information  that  day. 

We  walked  back  together,  and  I  said  good-bye  to 
him  at  the  end  of  the  lane  which  led  up  to  his 
cottage. 

"Not  comin'  up?"  he  asked,  with  a  nod  of  his 
head  towards  his  home. 

"Well!  I  have  to  catch  that  train  ..."  I  pre 
varicated,  looking  at  my  watch.  I  did  not  wish  to 
see  that  child  again;  my  distaste  was  even  stronger 
than  my  curiosity. 

Stott  grinned.  "We  don't  yave  many  visitors," 
he  said.  "Well,  I'll  come  a  bit  farther  with  you." 

He  came  to  the  bottom  of  the  hill,  and  after  he 
left  me  he  took  the  road  that  goes  over  the  hill  to 
Wenderby.  It  would  be  about  seven  miles  back  to 
Pym  by  that  road.  .  .  . 


m 

I  spent  the  next  afternoon  in  the  Reading  Room 
of  the  British  Museum.  I  was  searching  for  a  pre 
cedent,  and  at  last  I  found  one  in  the  story  of 
Christian  Heinrich  Heinecken,*  who  was  born  at 
Lubeck  on  February  6,  1721.  There  were  marked 
points  of  difference  between  the  development  of 

*  See  the  Teutsche  Bibliothek  and  Schoneich's  account  of  the 
child  of  Lubeck. 


64  THE  WONDER 

Heinecken  and  that  of  Stott's  child.  Heinecken 
was  physically  feeble;  at  the  age  of  three  he  was 
still  being  fed  at  the  breast.  The  Stott  precocity 
appeared  to  be  physically  strong;  his  body  looked 
small  and  undeveloped,  it  is  true,  but  this  was  partly 
an  illusion  produced  by  the  abnormal  size  of  the 
head.  Again  Heinecken  learned  to  speak  very  early ; 
at  ten  months  old  he  was  asking  intelligent  questions, 
at  eighteen  months  he  was  studying  history,  geo 
graphy,  Latin  and  anatomy ;  whereas  the  Stott  child 
had  only  once  been  heard  to  speak  at  the  age  of  two 
years,  and  had  not,  apparently,  begun  any  study 
at  all. 

From  this  comparison  it  might  seem  at  first  that 
the  balance  of  precocity  lay  in  the  Heinecken  scale. 
I  drew  another  inference.  I  argued  that  the  genius 
of  the  Stott  child  far  outweighed  the  genius  of  Chris 
tian  Heinecken. 

Little  Heinecken  in  his  four  years  of  life  suffered 
the  mental  experience — with  certain  necessary  limit 
ations — of  a  developed  brain.  He  gathered  knowl 
edge  as  an  ordinary  child  gathers  knowledge,  the 
only  difference  being  that  his  rate  of  assimilation 
was  as  ten  to  one. 

But  little  Stott  had  gathered  no  knowledge  from 
books.  He  had  been  born  of  ignorant  parents,  he 
was  being  brought  up  among  uneducated  people. 
Yet  he  had  wonderful  intellectual  gifts ;  surely  he 


STOTT'S  DISILLUSIONMENT  65 

must  have  one  above  all  others — the  gift  of  reason. 
His  brain  must  be  constructive,  logical;  he  must 
have  the  power  of  deduction.  He  must  even  at  an 
extraordinarily  early  age,  say  six  months,  have  de 
veloped  some  theory  of  life.  He  must  be  withhold 
ing  his  energy,  deliberately ;  declining  to  exhibit  his 
powers,  holding  his  marvellous  faculties  in  reserve. 
Here  was  surely  a  case  of  genius  which,  comparable 
in  some  respects  to  the  genius  of  Heinecken,  yet  far 
exceeded  it. 

As  I  developed  my  theory,  my  eagerness  grew. 
And  then  suddenly  an  inspiration  came  to  me.  In 
my  excitement  I  spoke  aloud  and  smacked  the  desk 
in  front  of  me  with  my  open  hand.  "Why,  of 
course !"  I  said.  "That  is  the  key." 

An  old  man  in  the  next  seat  scowled  fiercely. 
The  attendants  in  the  central  circular  desk  all 
looked  up.  Other  readers  turned  round  and  stared 
at  me.  I  had  violated  the  sacred  laws  of  the  Read 
ing  Room.  I  saw  one  of  the  librarians  make  a  sign 
to  an  attendant  and  point  to  me. 

I  gathered  up  my  books  quickly  and  returned 
them  at  the  central  desk.  My  self-consciousness  had 
returned,  and  I  was  anxious  to  be  away  from  the 
observation  of  the  many  dilettante  readers  who 
found  my  appearance  more  engrossing  than  the 
books  with  which  they  were  dallying  on  some  pretext 
or  another. 


66  THE  WONDER 

Yet,  curiously,  when  I  reached  the  street,  the 
theory  which  had  come  to  me  in  the  Museum  with 
the  force  and  vividness  of  an  illuminating  dream 
had  lost  some  of  its  glamour.  Nevertheless,  I  set 
it  out  as  it  then  shaped  itself  in  my  mind. 

The  great  restraining  force  in  the  evolution  of 
man,  so  I  thought,  has  been  the  restriction  imposed 
by  habit.  What  we  call  instinct  is  a  hereditary 
habit.  This  is  the  first  guiding  principle  in  the  life 
of  the  human  infant.  Upon  this  instinct  we  im 
mediately  superimpose  the  habits  of  reason,  all  the 
bodily  and  intellectual  conventions  that  have  been 
handed  down  from  generation  to  generation.  We 
learn  everything  we  know  as  children  by  the  heredi 
tary,  simian  habit  of  imitation.  The  child  of  intel 
lectual,  cultured  parents,  born  into  savage  surround 
ings,  becomes  the  slave  of  this  inherited  habit — call 
it  tendency,  if  you  will,  the  intention  is  the  same. 
I  elaborated  the  theory  by  instance  and  introspec 
tion,  and  found  no  flaw  in  it.  ... 

And  here,  by  some  freak  of  nature,  was  a  child 
born  without  these  habits.  During  the  period  of 
gestation,  one  thought  had  dominated  the  minds  of 
both  parents — the  desire  to  have  a  son  born  without 
habits.  It  does  not  seriously  affect  the  theory  that 
the  desire  had  a  peculiar  end  in  view;  the  wish,  the 
urgent,  controlling,  omnipotent  will  had  been  there, 


STOTT'S  DISILLUSIONMENT  67 

and  the  result  included  far  more  than  the  specific 
intention. 

Already  some  of  my  distaste  for  the  Stott  child 
had  vanished.  It  was  accountable,  and  therefore 
no  longer  fearful.  The  child  was  supernormal,  a 
cause  of  fear  to  the  normal  man,  as  all  truly  super 
normal  things  are  to  our  primitive,  animal  instincts. 
This  is  the  fear  of  the  wild  thing;  when  we  can 
explain  and  give  reasons,  the  horror  vanishes.  We 
are  men  again. 

I  did  not  quite  recover  the  glow  of  my  first  in 
spiration,  but  the  theory  remained  with  me;  I  de 
cided  to  make  a  study  of  the  child,  to  submit 
knowledge  to  his  reason.  I  would  stand  between 
him  and  the  delimiting  training  of  the  pedagogue,  I 
thought. 

Then  I  reached  home,  and  my  life  was  changed. 

This  story  is  not  of  my  own  life,  and  I  have  no 
wish  to  enter  into  the  curious  and  saddening  experi 
ences  which  stood  between  me  and  the  child  of 
Ginger  Stott  for  nearly  six  years.  In  that  time  my 
thoughts  strayed  now  and  again  to  that  cottage  in 
the  little  hamlet  on  those  wooded  hills.  Often  I 
thought  "When  I  have  time  I  will  go  and  see  that 
child  again  if  he  is  alive."  But  as  the  years  passed, 
the  memory  of  him  grew  dim,  even  the  memory  of 
his  father  was  blurred  over  by  a  thousand  new  im 
pressions.  So  it  chanced  that  for  nearly  six  years 


68  THE  WONDER 

I  heard  no  word  of  Stott  and  his  supernormal  infant, 
and  then  chance  again  intervened.  My  long  period 
of  sorrow  came  to  an  end  almost  as  suddenly  as 
it  had  begun,  and  by  a  coincidence  I  was  once 
more  entangled  in  the  strange  web  of  the  abnormal. 
In  this  story  of  Victor  Stott  I  have  bridged  these 
six  years  in  the  pages  that  follow.  In  doing  this  I 
have  been  compelled  to  draw  to  a  certain  extent  on 
my  imagination,  but  the  main  facts  are  true.  They 
have  been  gathered  from  first-hand  authority  only, 
from  Henry  Challis,  from  Mrs.  Stott,  and  from  her 
husband;  though  none,  I  must  confess,  has  been 
checked  by  that  soundest  of  all  authorities,  Victor 
Stott  himself,  who  might  have  given  me  every  par 
ticular  in  accurate  detail,  had  it  not  been  for  those 
peculiarities  of  his  which  will  be  explained  fully  in 
the  proper  place. 


PART   TWO 

THE   CHILDHOOD    OF 
THE   WONDER 


PART    TWO 

THE  CHILDHOOD  OF  THE  WONDER 

CHAPTER  IV 

THE    MANNER    OF    HIS    BIRTH 


STOKE-UNDERHII/L  lies  in  the  flat  of  the  valley  that 
separates  the  Hampden  from  the  Quainton  Hills. 
The  main  road  from  London  to  Ailesworth  does  not 
pass  through  Stoke,  but  from  the  highway  you  can 
see  the  ascent  of  the  bridge  over  the  railway,  down 
the  vista  of  a  straight  mile  of  side  road;  and, 
beyond,  a  glimpse  of  scattered  cottages.  That  is  all, 
and  as  a  matter  of  fact,  no  one  who  is  not  keeping 
a  sharp  look-out  would  ever  notice  the  village,  for 
the  eye  is  drawn  to  admire  the  bluff  of  Deane  Hill, 
the  highest  point  of  the  Hampdens,  which  lowers 
over  the  little  hamlet  of  Stoke  and  gives  it  a  second 
name;  and  to  the  church  tower  of  Chilborough  Bea 
con,  away  to  the  right,  another  landmark. 

The   attraction   which   Stoke-Underhill   held    for 
Stott,  lay  not  in  its  seclusion  or  its  picturesqueness 


72  THE  WONDER 

but  in  its  nearness  to  the  County  Ground.  Stott 
could  ride  the  two  flat  miles  which  separated  him 
from  the  scene  of  his  work  in  ten  minutes,  and  Ailes- 
worth  station  is  only  a  mile  beyond.  So  when  he 
found  that  there  was  a  suitable  cottage  to  let  in 
Stoke,  he  looked  no  farther  for  a  home ;  he  was  com 
pletely  satisfied. 

Stott's  absorption  in  any  matter  that  was  occupy 
ing  his  mind  made  him  exceedingly  careless  about 
the  detail  of  his  affairs.  He  took  the  first  cottage 
that  offered  when  he  looked  for  a  home,  he  took 
the  first  woman  who  offered  when  he  looked  for  a 
wife. 

Stott  was  not  an  attractive  man  to  women.  He 
was  short  and  plain,  and  he  had  an  appearance  of 
being  slightly  deformed,  a  "monkeyish"  look,  due 
to  his  build  and  his  long  arms.  Still,  he  was  famous, 
and  might,  doubtless,  have  been  accepted  by  a 
dozen  comely  young  women  for  that  reason,  even 
after  his  accident.  But  if  Stott  was  unattractive  to 
women,  women  were  even  more  unattractive  to  Stott. 
"No  opinion  of  women?"  he  used  to  say.  "Ever  seen 
a  gel  try  to  throw  a  cricket  ball?  You  'ave?  Well, 
ain't  that  enough  to  put  you  off  women?"  That 
was  Stott's  intellectual  standard ;  physically,  he  had 
never  felt  drawn  to  women. 

Ellen  Mary  Jakes  exhibited  no  superiority  over 
her  sisters  in  the  matter  of  throwing  a  cricket  ball. 


HIS  BIRTH  73 

She  was  a  friend  of  Ginger's  mother,  and  she  was 
a  woman  of  forty-two,  who  had  long  since  been 
relegated  to  some  remote  shelf  of  the  matrimonial 
exchange.  But  her  physical  disadvantages  were  out 
balanced  by  her  mental  qualities.  Ellen  Mary  was 
not  a  book-worm,  she  read  nothing  but  the  evening 
and  Sunday  papers,  but  she  had  a  reasoning  and 
intelligent  mind. 

She  had  often  contemplated  the  state  of  matri 
mony,  and  had  made  more  than  one  tentative  essay 
in  that  direction.  She  had  walked  out  with  three 
or  four  sprigs  of  the  Ailesworth  bourgeoisie  in  her 
time,  and  the  shadow  of  middle-age  had  crept  upon 
her  before  she  realised  that  however  pliant  her 
disposition,  her  lack  of  physical  charm  put  her  at 
the  mercy  of  the  first  bright-eyed  rival.  At  thirty- 
five  Ellen  had  decided,  with  admirable  philosophy, 
that  marriage  was  not  for  her,  and  had  assumed, 
with  apparent  complacency,  the  outward  evidences 
of  a  dignified  spinsterhood.  She  had  discarded  gay 
hats  and  ribbons,  imitation  jewellery,  unreliable 
cheap  shoes,  and  chill  diaphanous  stockings,  and  had 
found  some  solace  for  her  singleness  in  more  com 
fortable  and  suitable  apparel. 

When  Ellen,  a  declared  spinster  of  seven  years' 
standing,  was  first  taken  into  the  confidence  of 
Ginger  Stott's  mother,  the  scheme  which  she  after 
wards  elaborated  immediately  presented  itself  to 


74  THE  WONDER 

her  mind.  This  fact  is  a  curious  instance  of  Ellen 
Mary's  mobility  of  intellect,  and  the  student  of  he 
redity  may  here  find  matter  for  careful  thought.* 

The  confidence  in  question  was  Ginger's  declared 
intention  of  becoming  the  father  of  the  world's 
greatest  bowler.  Mrs.  Stott  was  a  dark,  garrulous, 
rather  deaf  little  woman,  with  a  keen  eye  for  the 
main  chance;  she  might  have  become  a  successful 
woman  of  business  if  she  had  not  been  by  nature 
both  stingy  and  a  cheat.  When  her  son  presented 
his  determination,  her  first  thought  was  to  find  some 
woman  who  would  not  dissipate  her  son's  substance, 
and  in  her  opinion — not  expressed  to  Ginger — the 
advertised  purpose  of  the  contemplated  marriage 
evidenced  a  wasteful  disposition. 

Mrs.  Stott  did  not  think  of  Ellen  Mary  as  a  pos 
sible  daughter-in-law,  but  she  did  hold  forth  for  an 
hour  and  three-quarters  on  the  contemptible  quali 
ties  of  the  young  maidens,  first  of  Ailesworth,  and 
then  with  a  wider  swoop  that  was  not  justified  by  her 

*  A  study  of  genius  shows  that  in  a  percentage  of  cases  so 
large  as  to  exclude  the  possibility  of  coincidence,  the  exceptional 
man,  whether  in  the  world  of  action,  of  art,  or  of  letters,  seems 
to  inherit  his  magnificent  powers  through  the  female  line.  Sir 
Francis  Galton,  it  is  true,  did  not  make  a  great  point  of  this 
curious  observation,  but  the  tendency  of  more  recent  analyses  is 
all  in  the  direction  of  confirming  the  hypothesis;  and  it  would 
seem  to  hold  good  in  the  converse  proposition,  namely,  that  the 
exceptional  woman  inherits  her  qualities  from  her  father. 


HIS  BIRTH  75 

limited  experience,  of  the  girls  of  England,  Scotland, 
and  Ireland  at  large. 

It  required  the  flexible  reasoning  powers  of  Ellen 
Mary  to  find  a  solution  of  the  problem.  Any  ordi 
nary,  average  woman  of  forty-two,  a  declared  spin 
ster  of  seven  years'  standing,  who  had  lived  all  her 
life  in  a  provincial  town,  would  have  been  mentally 
unable  to  realise  the  possibilities  of  the  situation. 
Such  a  representative  of  the  decaying  sexual  instinct 
would  have  needed  the  stimulus  of  courtship,  at  the 
least  of  some  hint  of  preference  displayed  by  the 
suitor.  Ruled  by  the  conventions  which  hold  her 
sex  in  bondage,  she  would  have  deemed  it  unwomanly 
to  make  advances  by  any  means  other  than  in 
nuendo,  the  subtle  suggestions  which  are  the  instru 
ments  of  her  sex,  but  which  are  often  too  delicate 
to  pierce  the  understanding  of  the  obtuse  and  slow- 
witted  male. 

Ellen  Mary  stood  outside  the  ruck  that  deter 
mines  the  destinies  of  all  such  typical  representa 
tives.  She  considered  the  idea  presented  to  her  by 
Mrs.  Stott  with  an  open  and  mobile  intelligence. 
She  weighed  the  character  of  Ginger,  the  possibilities 
of  rejection,  and  the  influence  of  Mrs.  Stott;  and 
she  gave  no  thought  to  the  conventions,  nor  to  the 
criticisms  of  Ailesworth  society.  When  she  had  de 
cided  that  such  chances  as  she  could  calculate  were 
in  her  favour,  Ellen  made  up  her  mind,  walked  out 


76  THE  WONDER 

to  the  County  Ground  one  windy  October  forenoon, 
and  discovered  Ginger  experimenting  with  grass 
seed  in  a  shed  off  the  pavilion. 

In  this  shed  she  offered  herself,  while  Ginger 
worked  on,  attentive  but  unresponsive.  Perhaps 
she  did  not  make  an  offer  so  much  as  state  a  case. 
A  masterly  case,  without  question;  for  who  can 
doubt  that  Stott,  however  procrastinating  and  un 
willing  to  make  a  definite  overture,  must  already 
have  had  some  type  of  womanhood  in  his  mind; 
some  conception,  the  seed  of  an  ideal. 

I  find  a  quality  of  romance  in  this  courageous  and 
unusual  wooing  of  Ellen  Mary's;  but  more,  I  find 
evidences  of  the  remarkable  quality  of  her  intelli 
gence.  In  other  circumstances  the  name  of  Ellen 
Mary  Jakes  might  have  stood  for  individual  achieve 
ment;  instead  of  that,  she  is  remembered  as  a  com 
mon  woman  who  happened  to  be  the  mother  of  Vic 
tor  Stott.  But  when  the  facts  are  examined,  can  we 
say  that  chance  entered?  If  ever  the  birth  of  a 
child  was  deliberately  designed  by  both  parents,  it 
was  in  the  case  under  consideration.  And  in  what 
a  strange  setting  was  the  inception  first  displayed. 

Ellen  Mary,  a  gaunt,  tall,  somewhat  untidy 
woman,  stood  at  the  narrow  door  of  the  little  shed 
off  the  Ailesworth  pavilion;  with  one  hand,  shoul 
der-high,  she  steadied  herself  against  the  door 
frame,  with  the  other  she  continually  pushed  for- 


HIS  BIRTH  77 

ward  the  rusty  bonnet  which  had  been  loosened  dur 
ing  her  walk  by  the  equinoctial  gale  that  now  tore  at 
the  door  of  the  shed,  and  necessitated  the  employ 
ment  of  a  wary  foot  to  keep  the  door  from  slamming. 
With  all  these  distractions  she  still  made  good  her 
case,  though  she  had  to  raise  her  voice  above  the 
multitudinous  sounds  of  the  wind,  and  though  she 
had  to  address  the  unresponsive  shoulders  of  a  man 
who  bent  over  shallow  trays  of  earth  set  on  a  trestle 
table  under  the  small  and  dirty  window.  It  is  he 
roic,  but  she  had  her  reward  in  full  measure.  Pres 
ently  her  voice  ceased,  and  she  waited  in  silence  for 
the  answer  that  should  decide  her  destiny.  There 
was  an  interval  broken  only  by  the  tireless  passion 
of  the  wind,  and  then  Ginger  Stott,  the  best-known 
man  in  England,  looked  up  and  stared  through  the 
incrusted  pane  of  glass  before  him  at  the  dim  vision 
of  stooping  grass  and  swaying  hedge.  Uncon 
sciously  his  hand  strayed  to  his  pockets,  and  then 
he  said  in  a  low,  thoughtful  voice :  "Well !  I  dunno 
why  not." 


Dr.  O'Connell's  face  was  white  and  drawn,  and 
the  redness  of  his  eyelids  more  pronounced  than 
ever  as  he  faced  Stott  in  the  pale  October  dawn. 
He  clutched  at  his  beard  with  a  nervous,  combing 


78  THE  WONDER 

movement,  as  he  shook  his  head  decidedly  in  answer 
to  the  question  put  to  him. 

"If  it's  not  dead,  now,  'twill  be  in  very  few  hours," 
he  said. 

Stott  was  shaken  by  the  feeble  passion  of  a  man 
who  has  spent  many  weary  hours  of  suspense.  His 
anger  thrilled  out  in  a  feeble  stream  of  hackneyed 
profanities. 

O'Connell  looked  down  on  him  with  contempt. 
At  sunrise,  after  a  sleepless  night,  a  man  is  a  crea 
ture  of  unrealised  emotions. 

"Damn  it,  control  yourself,  man !"  growled 
O'Connell,  himself  uncontrolled,  "your  wife'll  pull 
through  with  care,  though  she'll  never  have  another 
child."  O'Connell  did  not  understand;  he  was  an 
Irishman,  and  no  cricketer;  he  had  been  called  in 
because  he  had  a  reputation  for  his  skill  in  obstet 
rics. 

Stott  stared  at  him  fiercely.  The  two  men 
seemed  as  if  about  to  grapple  desperately  for  life 
in  the  windy,  grey  twilight. 

O'Connell  recovered  his  self-control  first,  and  be 
gan  again  to  claw  nervously  at  his  beard.  "Don't 
be  a  fool,"  he  said,  "it's  only  what  you  could  expect. 
Her  first  child,  and  her  a  woman  of  near  fifty."  He 
returned  to  the  upstairs  room ;  Stott  seized  his  cap 
and  went  out  into  the  chill  world  of  sunrise. 

"She'll  do,  if  there  are  no  complications,"  said 


HIS  BIRTH  79 

O'Connell  to  the  nurse,  as  he  bent  over  the  still, 
exhausted  figure  of  Mrs.  Stott.  "She's  a  wonderful 
woman  to  have  delivered  such  a  child  alive." 

The  nurse  shivered,  and  avoiding  any  glance  at 
the  huddle  that  lay  on  an  improvised  sofa-bed,  she 
said:  "It  can't  live,  can  it?" 

O'Connell,  still  intent  on  his  first  patient,  shook 
his  head.  "Never  cried  after  delivery,"  he  mut 
tered — "the  worst  sign."  He  was  silent  for  a  mo 
ment  and  then  he  added:  "But,  to  be  sure,  it's  a 
freak  of  some  kind."  His  scientific  curiosity  led 
him  to  make  a  further  investigation.  He  left  the 
bed  and  began  to  examine  the  huddle  on  the  sofa- 
couch.  Victor  Stott  owed  his  life,  in  the  first  in 
stance,  to  this  scientific  curiosity  of  O'Connell's. 

The  nurse,  a  capable,  but  sentimental  woman, 
turned  to  the  window  and  looked  out  at  the  watery 
trickle  of  feeble  sunlight  that  now  illumined  the 
wilderness  of  Stott's  garden. 

"Nurse!"  The  imperative  call  startled  her;  she 
turned  nervously. 

"Yes,  doctor?"  she  said,  making  no  movement 
towards  him. 

"Come  here!"  O'Connell  was  kneeling  by  the 
sofa.  "There  seems  to  be  complete  paralysis  of  all 
the  motor  centres,"  he  went  on ;  "but  the  child's  not 
dead.  We'll  try  artificial  respiration." 

The  nurse  overcame  her  repugnance  by  a  visible 


80  THE  WONDER 

effort.  "Is  it  ...  is  it  worth  while?"  she  asked, 
regarding  the  flaccid,  tumbled,  wax-like  thing,  with 
its  bloated,  white  globe  of  a  skull.  Every  muscle 
of  it  was  relaxed  and  limp,  its  eyes  shut,  its  tiny 
jaw  hanging.  "Wouldn't  it  be  better  to  let  it 
die  ...  ?" 

O'Connell  did  not  seem  to  hear  her.  He  waved 
an  impatient  hand  for  her  assistance.  "Outside 
my  experience,"  he  muttered,  "no  heart-beat  dis 
cernible,  no  breath  .  .  .  yet  it  is  indubitably  alive.'* 
He  depressed  the  soft,  plastic  ribs  and  gave  the 
feeble  heart  a  gentle  squeeze. 

"It's  beating,"  he  ejaculated,  after  a  pause,  with 
an  ear  close  to  the  little  chest,  "but  still  no  breath ! 
Come !" 

The  diminutive  lungs  were  as  readily  open  to  sug 
gestion  as  the  wee  heart:  a  few  movements  of  the 
twigs  they  called  arms,  and  the  breath  came. 
O'Connell  closed  the  mouth  and  it  remained  closed, 
adjusted  the  limbs,  and  they  stayed  in  the  positions 
in  which  they  were  placed.  At  last  he  gently  lifted 
the  lids  of  the  eyes. 

The  nurse  shivered  and  drew  back.  Even  O'Con 
nell  was  startled,  for  the  eyes  that  stared  into  his 
own  seemed  to  be  heavy  with  a  brooding  intelli 
gence.  .  .  . 

Stott  came  back  at  ten  o'clock,  after  a  morose 


HIS  BIRTH  81 

trudge  through  the  misty  rain.  He  found  the  nurse 
in  the  sitting-room. 

"Doctor  gone?"  he  asked. 

The  nurse  nodded. 

"Dead,  I  suppose?"  Stott  gave  an  upward  twist 
of  his  head  towards  the  room  above. 

The  nurse  shook  her  head. 

"Can't  live  though?"  There  was  a  note  of  faint 
hope  in  his  voice. 

The  nurse  drew  herself  together  and  sighed 
deeply.  "Yes !  we  believe  it'll  live,  Mr.  Stott,"  she 
said.  "But  .  .  .  it's  a  very  remarkable  baby." 

How  that  phrase  always  recurred! 

m 

There  were  no  complications,  but  Mrs.  Stott's  re 
covery  was  not  rapid.  It  was  considered  advisable 
that  she  should  not  see  the  child.  She  thought  that 
they  were  lying  to  her,  that  the  child  was  dead  and, 
so,  resigned  herself.  But  her  husband  saw  it. 

He  had  never  seen  so  young  an  infant  before,  and, 
just  for  one  moment,  he  believed  that  it  was  a  normal 
child. 

"What  an  'ead!"  was  his  first  ejaculation,  and 
then  he  realised  the  significance  of  that  sign.  Fear 
came  into  his  eyes,  and  his  mouth  fell  open.  "  'Ere, 


82  THE  WONDER 

I  say,  nurse,  it's  .  .  .  it's  a  wrong  'un,  ain't  it?" 
he  gasped. 

"I'm  sure  I  can't  tell  you,  Mr.  Stott,"  broke  out 
the  nurse  hysterically.  She  had  been  tending  that 
curious  baby  for  three  hours,  and  she  was  on  the 
verge  of  a  break-down.  There  was  no  wet-nurse  to 
be  had,  but  a  woman  from  the  village  had  been  sent 
for.  She  was  expected  every  moment. 

"More  like  a  tadpole  than  anything,"  mused  the 
unhappy  father. 

"Oh!  Mr.  Stott,  for  goodness'  sake,  don't,"  cried 
the  nurse.  "If  you  only  knew.  .  .  ." 

"Knew  what?"  questioned  Stott,  still  staring  at 
the  motionless  figure  of  his  son,  who  lay  with  closed 
eyes,  apparently  unconscious. 

"There's  something — I  don't  know,"  began  the 
nurse,  and  then  after  a  pause,  during  which  she 
seemed  to  struggle  for  some  means  of  expression, 
she  continued  with  a  sigh  of  utter  weariness,  "You'll 
know  when  it  opens  its  eyes.  Oh!  Why  doesn't 
that  woman  come,  the  woman  you  sent  for?" 

"She'll  be  'ere  directly,"  replied  Stott.  "What 
d'you  mean  about  there  bein'  something  .  .  .  some 
thing  what?" 

"Uncanny,"  said  the  nurse  without  conviction. 
"I  do  wish  that  woman  would  come.  I've  been  up 
the  best  part  of  the  night,  and  now.  .  .  ." 

"Uncanny?    As  how?"  persisted  Stott. 


HIS  BIRTH  83 

"Not  normal,"  explained  the  nurse.  "I  can't  tell 
you  more  than  that." 

"But  'ow?     What  way?" 

He  did  not  receive  an  answer  then,  for  the  long 
expected  relief  came  at  last,  a  great  hulk  of  a  woman, 
who  became  voluble  when  she  saw  the  child  she  had 
come  to  nurse. 

"Oh !  dear,  oh !  dear,"  the  stream  began. 
"How  unforchnit,  and  'er  first,  too.  It'll  be  a  idjit, 
I'm  afraid.  Mrs.  'Arrison's  third  was  the  very  spit 
of  it.  .  .  ." 

The  stream  ran  on,  but  Stott  heard  no  more.  An 
idiot!  He  had  fathered  an  idiot!  That  was  the 
end  of  his  dreams  and  ambitions !  He  had  had  an 
hour's  sleep  on  the  sitting-room  sofa.  He  went  out 
to  his  work  at  the  County  Ground  with  a  heart  full 
of  blasphemy. 

When  he  returned  at  four  o'clock  he  met  the  stout 
woman  on  the  doorstep.  She  put  up  a  hand  to  her 
rolling  breast,  closed  her  eyes  tightly,  and  gasped 
as  though  completely  overcome  by  this  trifling  ren 
counter. 

"  'Ow  is  it?"  questioned  the  obsessed  Stott. 

"Oh  dear!  Oh  dear!"  panted  the  stout  woman, 
"the  leas'  thing  upsets  me  this  afternoon.  .  .  ." 
She  wandered  away  into  irrelevant  fluency,  but  Stott 
was  autocratic;  his  insistent  questions  overcame  the 
inertia  of  even  Mrs.  Reade  at  last.  The  substance 


84  THE  WONDER 

of  her  information,  freed  from  extraneous  matter, 
was  as  follows: 

"Oh!  'ealthy?  It'll  live,  I've  no  doubt,  if  that's 
what  you  mean;  but  'elpless  .  .  .  !  There,  'elpless 
is  no  word.  .  .  .  Learn  'im  to  open  his  mouth,  learn 
'im  to  close  'is  'ands,  learn  'im  to  go  to  sleep,  learn 
'im  everythink.  I've  never  seen  nothink  like  it, 
never  in  all  my  days,  and  I've  'elped  to  bring  a  few 
into  the  world.  ...  I  can't  begin  to  tell  you  about 
it,  Mr.  Stott,  and  that's  the  solemn  truth.  When 
'e  first  looked  at  me,  I  near  'ad  a  faint.  A  old- 
fashioned,  wise  sort  of  look  as  'e  might  'a  been  a 
'undred.  'Lord  'elp  us,  nurse,'  I  says,  'Lord  'elp  us.' 
I  was  that  opset,  I  didn't  rightly  know  what  I  was 
a-saying.  .  .  ." 

Stott  pushed  past  the  agitated  Mrs.  Reade,  and 
went  into  the  sitting-room.  He  had  had  neither 
breakfast  nor  lunch;  there  was  no  sign  of  any 
preparation  for  his  tea,  and  the  fireplace  was  grey 
with  the  cinders  of  last  night's  fire.  For  some 
minutes  he  sat  in  deep  despondency,  a  hero  faced 
with  the  uncompromising  detail  of  domestic  neglect. 
Then  he  rose  and  called  to  the  nurse. 

She  appeared  at  the  head  of  the  steep,  narrow 
staircase.  "Sh!"  she  warned,  with  a  finger  to  her 
lips. 

"I'm  goin'  out  again,"  said  Stott  in  a  slightly 
modulated  voice. 


HIS  BIRTH  85 

"Mrs.  Reade's  coming  back  presently,"  replied 
the  nurse,  and  looked  over  her  shoulder. 

"Want  me  to  wait?"  asked  Stott. 

The  nurse  came  down  a  few  steps.  "It's  only  in 
case  any  one  was  wanted,"  she  began,  "I've  got 
two  of  'em  on  my  hands,  you  see.  They're  both 
doing  well  as  far  as  that  goes.  Only  .  .  ."  She 
broke  off  and  drifted  into  small  talk.  Ever  and 
again  she  stopped  and  listened  intently,  and  looked 
back  towards  the  half-open  door  of  the  upstairs 
room. 

Stott  fidgeted,  and  then,  as  the  flow  of  conversa 
tion  gave  no  sign  of  running  dry,  he  dammed  it 
abruptly.  "Look  'ere,  miss,"  he  said,  "I've  'ad 
nothing  to  eat  since  last  night." 

"Oh!  9ear!"  ejaculated  the  nurse.  "If — perhaps, 
if  you'd  just  stay  here  and  listen,  I  could  get  you 
something."  She  seemed  relieved  to  have  some  ex 
cuse  for  coming  down. 

While  she  bustled  about  the  kitchen,  Stott,  half 
way  upstairs,  stayed  and  listened.  The  house  was 
very  silent,  the  only  sound  was  the  hushed  clatter 
made  by  the  nurse  in  the  kitchen.  There  was  an 
atmosphere  of  wariness  about  the  place  that  affected 
even  so  callous  a  person  as  Stott.  He  listened  with 
strained  attention,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  half-open 
door.  He  was  not  an  imaginative  man,  but  he  was 
beset  with  apprehension  as  to  what  lay  behind  that 


86  THE  WONDER 

door.  He  looked  for  something  inhuman  that  might 
come  crawling  through  the  aperture,  something  gro 
tesque,  preternaturally  wise  and  threatening — some 
thing  horribly  unnatural. 

The  window  of  the  upstairs  room  was  evidently 
open,  and  now  and  again  the  door  creaked  faintly. 
When  that  happened  Stott  gripped  the  handrail, 
and  grew  damp  and  hot.  He  looked  always  at  the 
shadows  under  the  door.  If  it  crawled.  .  .  . 

The  nurse  stood  at  the  door  of  the  sitting-room 
while  Stott  ate,  and  presently  Mrs.  Reade  came 
grunting  and  panting  up  the  brick  path. 

"I'm  going  out,  now,"  said  Stott  resolutely,  and 
he  rose  to  his  feet,  though  his  meal  was  barely  fin 
ished. 

"You'll  be  back  before  Mrs.  Reade  goes?"  asked 
the  nurse,  and  passed  a  hand  over  her  tired  eyes. 
"She'll  be  here  till  ten  o'clock.  I'm  going  to  lie 
down." 

"I'll  be  back  by  ten,"  Stott  assured  her  as  he 
went  out. 

He  did  come  back  at  ten  o'clock,  but  he  was 
stupidly  drunk. 

IV 

The  Stotts'  cottage  was  no  place  to  live  in  during 
the  next  few  days,  but  the  nurse  made  one  stipula 
tion  :  Mr.  Stott  must  come  home  to  sleep.  He  slept 


HIS  BIRTH  87 

on  an  improvised  bed  in  the  sitting-room,  and  during 
the  night  the  nurse  came  down  many  times  and 
listened  to  the  sound  of  his  snores.  She  would  put 
her  ear  against  the  door,  and  rest  her  nerves  with 
the  thought  of  human  companionship.  Sometimes 
she  opened  the  door  quietly  and  watched  him  as  he 
slept.  Except  at  night,  when  he  was  rarely  quite 
sober,  Stott  only  visited  his  cottage  once  a  day,  at 
lunch  time;  from  seven  in  the  morning  till  ten  at 
night  he  remained  in  Ailesworth  save  for  this  one 
call  of  inquiry. 

It  was  such  a  still  house.  Ellen  Mary  only  spoke 
when  speech  was  absolutely  required,  and  then  her 
words  were  the  fewest  possible,  and  were  spoken  in 
a  whisper.  The  child  made  no  sound  of  any  kind. 
Even  Mrs.  Reade  tried  to  subdue  her  stertorous 
breathing,  to  move  with  less  ponderous  quakings. 
The  neighbours  told  her  she  looked  thinner. 

Little  wonder  that  during  the  long  night  vigil 
the  nurse,  moving  silently  between  the  two  upstairs 
rooms,  should  pause  on  the  landing  and  lean  over 
the  handrail;  little  wonder  that  she  should  give  a 
long  sigh  of  relief  when  she  heard  the  music  of 
Stott's  snore  ascend  from  the  sitting-room. 

O'Connell  called  twice  every  day  during  the  first 
week,  not  because  it  was  necessary  for  him  to  visit 
his  two  patients,  but  because  the  infant  fascinated 
him.  He  would  wait  for  it  to  open  its  eyes,  and  then. 


88  THE  WONDER 

he  would  get  up  and  leave  the  room  hurriedly.  Al 
ways  he  intended  to  return  the  infant's  stare,  but 
when  the  opportunity  was  given  to  him,  he  always 
rose  and  left  the  room — no  matter  how  long  and  de 
liberately  he  had  braced  himself  to  another  course  of 
action. 

It  was  on  a  Thursday  that  the  baby  was  born,  and 
it  was  on  the  following  Thursday  that  the  circum 
stance  of  the  household  was  reshaped. 

O'Connell  came  in  the  morning,  full  of  resolution. 
After  he  had  pronounced  Mrs.  Stott  well  on  the  way 
to  recovery,  he  paid  the  usual  visit  to  his  younger 
patient.  The  child  lay,  relaxed,  at  full  length,  in 
the  little  cot  which  had  been  provided  for  him.  His 
eyes  were,  as  usual,  closed,  and  he  had  all  the  ap 
pearance  of  the  ordinary  hydrocephalic  idiot. 

O'Connell  sat  down  by  the  cot,  listened  to  the 
child's  breathing  and  heart-beat,  lifted  and  let  fall 
again  the  lax  wrist,  turned  back  the  eyelid,  revealing 
only  the  white  of  the  upturned  eyeball,  and  then 
composed  himself  to  await  the  natural  waking  of 
the  child,  if  it  were  asleep — always  a  matter  of  un 
certainty. 

The  nurse  stood  near  him,  silent,  but  she  looked 
away  from  the  cot. 

"Hydrocephalus !"  murmured  O'Connell,  staring 
at  his  tiny  patient,  "hydrocephalus,  without  a  doubt. 
Eh?  nurse!" 


HIS  BIRTH  89 

"Yes,  perhaps !     I  don't  know,  doctor." 

"Oh,  not  a  doubt  of  it,  not  a  doubt,"  repeated 
O'Connell,  and  then  came  a  flicker  of  the  child's 
eyelids  and  a  weak  crumpling  of  the  tiny  hand. 

O'Connell  caught  his  breath  and  clawed  at  his 
beard.  "Hydrocephalus,"  he  muttered  with  set  jaw 
and  drawn  eyebrows. 

The  tiny  hand  straightened  with  a  movement  that 
suggested  the  recovery  of  crushed  grass,  the  mouth 
opened  in  a  microscopic  yawn,  and  then  the  eyelids 
were  slowly  raised  and  a  steady  unwavering  stare  of 
profoundest  intelligence  met  O'Connell's  gaze. 

He  clenched  his  hands,  shifted  in  his  chair,  and 
then  rose  abruptly  and  turned  to  the  window. 

"I — it  won't  be  necessary  for  me  to  come  again, 
nurse,"  he  said  curtly;  "they  are  both  doing  per 
fectly  well." 

"Not  come  again?"  There  was  dismay  in  the 
nurse's  question. 

"No!  No!  It's  unnecessary.  .  .  ."  He  broke 
off,  and  made  for  the  door  without  another  glance 
in  the  direction  of  the  cot. 

Nurse  followed  him  downstairs. 

"If  I'm  wanted — you  can  easily  send  for  me," 
said  O'Connell,  as  he  went  out.  As  he  moved  away 
he  dragged  at  his  beard  and  murmured:  "Hydro 
cephalus,  not  a  doubt  of  it." 

Following  his  departure,  Mrs.  Reade  heard  curi- 


90  THE  WONDER 

ous  and  most  unwonted  laughter,  and  cautiously 
blundered  downstairs  to  investigate.  She  found  the 
nurse  in  an  advanced  condition  of  hysteria,  laugh 
ing,  gurgling,  weeping,  and  intermittently  crying 
in  a  shrill  voice :  "Oh !  Lord  have  mercy ;  Lord  ha' 
mercy !" 

"Now,  see  you  'ere,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Reade, 
when  nurse  had  been  recovered  to  a  red-eyed  sanity, 
"it's  time  she  was  told.  I've  never  'eld  with  keepin' 
it  from  'er,  myself,  and  I've  'ad  more  experience  than 
many.  .  .  ."  Mrs.  Reade  argued  with  abundant 
recourse  to  parenthesis. 

"Is  she  strog  edough?"  asked  the  nurse,  still  with 
tears  in  her  voice;  "cad  she  bear  the  sight  of  hib?" 
She  blew  her  nose  vigorously,  and  then  continued 
with  greater  clearness :  "I'm  afraid  it  may  turn  her 
head." 

Out  of  her  deep  store  of  wisdom,  Mrs.  Reade  pro 
duced  a  fact  which  she  elaborated  and  confirmed  by 
apt  illustration,  adducing  more  particularly  the 
instance  of  Mrs.  Harrison's  third.  "She's  Jis 
mother,"  was  the  essence  of  her  argument,  a  fact  of 
deep  and  strange  significance. 

The  nurse  yielded,  and  so  the  circumstance  of 
Stott's  household  was  changed,  and  Stott  himself 
was  once  more  able  to  come  home  to  meals. 

The  nurse,  wisely,  left  all  diplomacy  to  the  capa 
ble  Mrs.  Reade,  a  woman  specially  fitted  by  nature 


HIS  BIRTH  91 

for  the  breaking  of  news.  She  delivered  a  long,  a 
record-breaking  circumlocution,  and  it  seemed  that 
Ellen  Mary,  who  lay  with  closed  eyes,  gathered  no 
hint  of  its  import.  But  when  the  impressive  ha 
rangue  was  slowly  rustling  to  collapse  like  an  ex 
hausted  balloon,  she  opened  her  eyes  and  said  quite 
clearly, 

"What's  wrong  with  'im,  then?" 

The  question  had  the  effect  of  reinflation,  but  at 
last  the  child  itself  was  brought,  and  it  was  open- 
eyed. 

The  supreme  ambition  of  all  great  women — and 
have  not  all  women  the  potentialities  of  greatness? 
— is  to  give  birth  to  a  god.  That  ambition  it  is 
which  is  marred  by  the  disappointing  birth  of  a 
female  child — when  the  man-child  is  born,  there  is 
always  hope,  and  slow  is  the  realisation  of  failure. 
That  realisation  never  came  to  Ellen  Mary.  She 
accepted  her  child  with  the  fear  that  is  adoration. 
When  she  dropped  her  eyes  before  her  god's  search 
ing  glance,  she  did  it  in  reverence.  She  hid  her 
faith  from  the  world,  but  in  her  heart  she  believed 
that  she  was  blessed  above  all  women.  In  secret, 
she  worshipped  the  inscrutable  wonder  that  had 
used  her  as  the  instrument  of  his  incarnation.  Per 
haps  she  was  right.  .  .  . 


CHAPTER    V 

HIS    DEPARTURE    FROM    STOKE-UNDERHII/L 


THE  village  of  Stoke  was  no  whit  intimidated  by  the 
news  that  Mrs.  Reade  sowed  abroad.  The  women 
exclaimed  and  chattered,  the  men  gaped  and  shook 
their  heads,  the  children  hung  about  the  ruinous 
gate  that  shut  them  out  from  the  twenty-yard  strip 
of  garden  which  led  up  to  Stott's  cottage.  Curi 
osity  was  the  dominant  emotion.  Any  excuse  was 
good  enough  to  make  friendly  overtures,  but  the 
baby  remained  invisible  to  all  save  Mrs.  Reade;  and 
the  village  community  kept  open  ears  while  the  lust 
of  its  eyes  remained,  perforce,  unsatisfied.  If  Stott's 
gate  slammed  in  the  wind,  every  door  that  com 
manded  a  view  of  that  gate  was  opened,  and  heads 
appeared,  and  bare  arms — the  indications  of  women 
who  nodded  to  each  other,  shook  their  heads,  pursed 
their  lips  and  withdrew  for  the  time  to  attend  the 
pressure  of  household  duty.  Later,  even  that  gate 
slamming  would  reinvigorate  the  gossip  of  back 
yards  and  front  doorways. 

92 


HIS  DEPARTURE  FROM  STOKE    93 

The  first  stranger  to  force  an  entry  was  the  rec 
tor.  He  was  an  Oxford  man  who,  in  his  youth,  had 
been  an  ardent  disciple  of  the  school  that  attempts 
the  reconciliation  of  Religion  and  Science.  He  had 
been  ambitious,  but  nature  had  predetermined  his 
career  by  giving  him  a  head  of  the  wrong  shape.  At 
Oxford  his  limitations  had  not  been  clearly  defined, 
and  on  the  strength  of  a  certain  speech  at  the  Union, 
he  crept  into  a  London  west-end  curacy.  There  he 
attempted  to  demonstrate  the  principle  of  recon 
ciliation  from  the  pulpit,  but  his  vicar  and  his 
bishop  soon  recognised  that  excellent  as  were  his 
intentions,  he  was  doing  better  service  to  agnosti 
cism  than  to  his  own  religion.  As  a  result  of  this 
clerical  intrigue  he  was  vilely  marooned  on  the  sav 
age  island  of  Stoke-Underhill,  where  he  might  preach 
as  much  science  as  he  would  to  the  natives,  for  there 
was  no  fear  of  their  comprehending  him.  Fifteen 
years  of  Stoke  had  brought  about  a  reaction.  Na 
ture  had  made  him  a  feeble  fanatic,  and  he  was 
now  as  ardent  an  opponent  of  science  as  he  had 
once  been  a  defender.  In  his  little  mind  he  believed 
that  his  early  reading  had  enabled  him  to  under 
stand  all  the  weaknesses  of  the  scientific  position. 
His  name  was  Percy  Crashaw. 

Mrs.  Stott  could  not  deny  her  rector  the  right  of 
entry,  and  he  insisted  on  seeing  the  infant,  who  was 
not  yet  baptised — a  shameful  neglect,  according  to 


94  THE  WONDER 

Crashaw,  for  the  child  was  nearly  six  weeks  old. 
Nor  had  Mrs.  Stott  been  "churched."  Crashaw  had 
good  excuse  for  pressing  his  call. 

Mrs.  Stott  refused  to  face  the  village.  She  knew 
that  the  place  was  all  agape,  eager  to  stare  at  what 
they  considered  some  "new  kind  of  idiot."  Let  them 
wait,  was  Ellen  Mary's  attitude.  Her  pride  was 
a  later  development.  In  those  early  weeks  she  feared 
criticism. 

But  she  granted  Crashaw's  request  to  see  the 
child,  and  after  the  interview  (the  term  is  precise) 
the  rector  gave  way  on  the  question  of  a  private 
ceremony,  though  he  had  indignantly  opposed  the 
scheme  when  it  was  first  mooted.  It  may  be  that  he 
conceived  an  image  of  himself  with  that  child  in  his 
arms,  the  cynosure  of  a  packed  congregation.  .  .  . 

Crashaw  was  one  of  the  influences  that  hastened 
the  Stotts'  departure  from  Stoke.  He  was  so  in 
discreet.  After  the  christening  he  would  talk.  His 
attitude  is  quite  comprehensible.  He,  the  lawgiver 
of  Stoke,  had  been  thwarted.  He  had  to  find  apol 
ogy  for  the  private  baptism  he  had  denied  to  many 
a  sickly  infant.  Moreover,  the  Stotts  had  broken 
another  of  his  ordinances,  for  father  and  mother 
had  stood  as  god-parents  to  their  own  child,  and 
Crashaw  himself  had  been  the  second  god-father  or 
dained  as  necessary  by  the  rubric.  He  had  given 
way  on  these  important  points  so  weakly;  he  had 


HIS  DEPARTURE  FROM  STOKE    95 

to  find  excuse,  and  he  talked  himself  into  a  false 
belief  with  regard  to  the  child  he  had  baptised. 

He  began  with  his  wife.  "I  would  allow  more 
latitude  to  medical  men,"  he  said.  "In  such  a  case 
as  this  child  of  the  Stotts,  for  instance;  it  becomes 
a  burden  on  the  community,  I  might  say  a  danger, 
yes,  a  positive  danger.  I  am  not  sure  whether  I 
was  right  in  administering  the  holy  sacrament  of 
baptism.  .  .  ." 

"Oh!  Percy!  Surely  .  .  ."  began  Mrs.  Cra- 
shaw. 

"One  moment,  my  dear,"  protested  the  rector, 
"I  have  not  fully  explained  the  circumstances  of 
the  case."  And  as  he  warmed  to  his  theme  the 
image  of  Victor  Stott  grew  to  a  fearful  grotesque- 
ness.  It  loomed  as  a  threat  over  the  community 
and  the  church.  Crashaw  quoted,  inaccurately, 
statistics  of  the  growth  of  lunacy,  and  then  went  off 
at  a  tangent  into  the  theory  of  possession  by  evil 
spirits.  Since  his  rejection  of  science,  he  had  lapsed 
into  certain  forms  of  medisevalism,  and  he  now  be 
gan  to  dally  with  the  theory  of  a  malign  incarnation 
which  he  elaborated  until  it  became  an  article  of  his 
faith. 

To  his  poorer  parishioners  he  spoke  in  vague 
terms,  but  he  changed  their  attitude;  he  filled  them 
with  overawed  terror.  They  were  intensely  curious 
still,  but,  now,  when  the  gate  was  slammed,  one  saw 


96  THE  WONDER 

a  face  pressed  to  the  window,  the  door  remained 
fast;  and  the  children  no  longer  clustered  round 
that  gate,  but  dared  each  other  to  run  past  it ;  which 
they  did,  the  girls  with  a  scream,  the  boys  with  a 
jeering  "Yah — ah!"  a  boast  of  intrepidity. 

This  change  of  temper  was  soon  understood  by 
the  persons  most  concerned.  Stott  grumbled  and 
grew  more  morose.  He  had  never  been  intimate 
with  the  villagers,  and  now  he  avoided  any  inter 
course  with  them.  His  wife  kept  herself  aloof,  and 
her  child  sheltered  from  profane  observation.  Nat 
urally,  this  attitude  of  the  Stotts  fostered  suspicion. 
Even  the  hardiest  sceptic  in  the  taproom  of  the 
Challis  Arms  began  to  shake  his  head,  to  concede 
that  there  "moight  be  soomething  in  it." 

Yet  the  departure  from  Stoke  might  have  been 
postponed  indefinitely,  if  it  had  not  been  for  another 
intrusion.  Both  Stott  and  his  wife  were  ready  to 
take  up  a  new  idea,  but  they  were  slow  to  con 
ceive  it. 

n 

The  intruder  was  the  local  magnate,  the  landlord 
of  Stoke,  Wenderby,  Chilborough,  a  greater  part 
of  Ailesworth,  two  or  three  minor  parishes,  and,  in 
cidentally,  of  Pym. 

This  magnate,  Henry  Challis,  was  a  man  of  some 
scholarship,  whose  ambition  had  been  crushed  by 


HIS  DEPARTURE  FROM  STOKE    97 

the  weight  of  his  possessions.  He  had  a  remark 
ably  fine  library  at  Challis  Court,  but  he  made  little 
use  of  it,  for  he  spent  the  greater  part  of  his  time 
in  travel.  In  appearance  he  was  rather  an  un 
gainly  man ;  his  great  head  and  the  bulk  of  his  big 
shoulders  were  something  too  heavy  for  his  legs. 

Crashaw  regarded  his  patron  with  mixed  feelings. 
For  Challis,  the  man  of  property,  the  man  of  high 
connections,  of  intimate  associations  with  the  world 
of  science  and  letters,  Crashaw  had  a  feeling  of  awed 
respect;  but  in  private  he  inveighed  against  the 
wickedness  of  Challis,  the  agnostic,  the  decadent. 

When  Victor  Stott  was  nearly  three  months  old, 
the  rector  met  his  patron  one  day  on  the  road  be 
tween  Chilborough  and  Stoke.  It  was  three  years 
since  their  last  meeting,  and  Crashaw  noticed  that 
in  the  interval  Challis's  pointed  beard  had  become 
streaked  with  grey. 

"Hallo !  How  d'ye  do,  Crashaw  ?"  was  the 
squire's  casual  greeting.  "How  is  the  Stoke  micro 
cosm?" 

Crashaw  smiled  subserviently;  he  was  never  quite 
at  his  ease  in  Challis's  presence.  "Rari  nantes  in 
gurgite  vasto,"  was  the  tag  he  found  in  answer  to 
the  question  put.  However  great  his  contempt  for 
Challis's  way  of  life,  in  his  presence  Crashaw  was 
often  oppressed  with  a  feeling  of  inferiority,  a  feel- 


98  THE  WONDER 

ing  which  he  fought  against  but  could  not  subdue. 
The  Latin  tag  was  an  attempt  to  win  appreciation, 
it  represented  a  boast  of  equality. 

Challis  correctly  evaluated  the  rector's  attitude; 
it  was  with  something  of  pity  in  his  mind  that  he 
turned  and  walked  beside  him. 

There  was  but  one  item  of  news  from  Stoke,  and 
it  soon  came  to  the  surface.  Crashaw  phrased  his 
description  of  Victor  Stott  in  terms  other  than 
those  he  used  in  speaking  to  his  wife  or  to  his  parish 
ioners;  but  the  undercurrent  of  his  virulent  super 
stition  did  not  escape  Challis,  and  the  attitude  of 
the  villagers  was  made  perfectly  plain. 

"Hm!"  was  Challis's  comment,  when  the  flow  of 
words  ceased,  "nigroque  simillima  cygno,  eh?" 

"Ah!  of  course,  you  sneer  at  our  petty  affairs," 
said  Crashaw. 

"By  no  means.  I  should  like  to  see  this  black 
swan  of  Stoke,"  replied  Challis.  "Anything  so  ex 
ceptional  interests  me." 

"No  doubt  Mrs.  Stott  would  be  proud  to  exhibit 
the  horror,"  said  Crashaw.  He  had  a  gleam  of 
satisfaction  in  the  thought  that  even  the  great 
Henry  Challis  might  be  scared.  That  would,  in 
deed,  be  a  triumph. 

"If  Mrs.  Stott  has  no  objection,  of  course,"  said 
Challis.  "Shall  we  go  there,  now?" 


HIS  DEPARTURE  FROM  STOKE    99 


in 


The  visit  of  Henry  Challis  marked  the  first  advent 
of  Ellen  Mary's  pride  in  the  exhibition  of  her 
wonder.  After  the  King  and  the  Royal  Family — 
superhuman  beings,  infinitely  remote — the  great 
landlord  of  the  neighbourhood  stood  as  a  symbol  of 
temporal  power  to  the  whole  district.  The  bud 
ding  socialist  of  the  taproom  might  sneer,  and  make 
threat  that  the  time  was  coming  when  he,  the  boaster, 
and  Challis,  the  landlord,  would  have  equal  rights; 
but  in  public  the  socialist  kow-towed  to  his  master 
with  a  submission  no  less  obsequious  than  that  of 
the  humblest  conservative  on  the  estate. 

Mrs.  Stott  dropped  a  deep  curtsy  when,  opening 
the  door  to  the  autocratic  summons  of  Crashaw's 
rat-a-tat,  she  saw  the  great  man  of  the  district  at 
her  threshold.  Challis  raised  his  hat.  Crashaw  did 
not  imitate  his  example;  he  was  all  officiousness, 
he  had  the  air  of  a  chief  superintendent  of  police. 

"Oh!  Mrs.  Stott,  we  should  like  to  come  in  for 
a  few  minutes.  Mr.  Challis  would  like  to  see  your 
child." 

"Damn  the  fool!"  was  Challis's  thought,  but  he 
gave  it  less  abrupt  expression.  "That  is,  of  course, 
if  it  is  quite  convenient  to  you,  Mrs.  Stott.  I  can 
come  at  some  other  time.  ." 


100  THE  WONDER 

"Please  walk  in,  sir,"  replied  Mrs.  Stott,  and  curt 
sied  again  as  she  stood  aside. 

Superintendent   Crashaw   led   the  way.  .  .  . 

Challis  called  again  next  day,  by  himself  this  time ; 
and  the  day  after  he  dropped  in  at  six  o'clock  while 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Stott  were  at  tea.  He  put  them  at 
their  ease  by  some  magic  of  his  personality,  and 
insisted  that  they  should  continue  tKeir  meal  while 
he  sat  among  the  collapsed  springs  of  the  horsehair 
armchair.  He  leaned  forward,  swinging  his  stick 
as  a  pendulum  between  his  knees,  and  shot  out  ques 
tions  as  to  the  Stotts'  relations  with  the  neighbours. 
And  always  he  had  an  attentive  eye  on  the  cradle 
that  stood  near  the  fire. 

"The  neighbours  are  not  highly  intelligent,  I  sus 
pect,"  said  Challis.  "Even  Mr.  Crashaw,  I  fancy, 
does  not  appreciate  the — peculiarities  of  the  situa 
tion." 

"He's  worse  than  any,"  interpolated  Stott.  Ellen 
Mary  sat  in  the  shadow;  there  was  a  new  light  in 
her  eyes,  a  foretaste  of  glory. 

"Ah !  a  little  narrow,  a  little  dogmatic,  no  doubt," 
replied  Challis.  "I  was  going  to  propose  that  you 
might  prefer  to  live  at  Pym." 

"Much  farther  for  me,"  muttered  Stott.  He  had 
mixed  with  nobility  on  the  cricket  field,  and  was  not 
overawed. 

"No  doubt;  but  you  have  other  interests  to  con- 


HIS  DEPARTURE  FROM  STOKE   101 

sider,  interests  of  far  greater  importance."  Challis 
shifted  his  gaze  from  the  cradle,  and  looked  Stott  in 
the  face.  "I  understand  that  Mrs.  Stott  does  not 
care  to  take  her  child  out  in  the  village.  Isn't 
that  so?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  replied  Ellen,  to  whom  this  question 
was  addressed.  "I  don't  care  to  make  an  exhibition 
of  'im." 

"Quite  right,  quite  right,"  went  on  Challis,  "but 
it  is  very  necessary  that  the  child  should  have  air. 
I  consider  it  very  necessary,  a  matter  of  the  first 
importance  that  the  child  should  have  air,"  he  re 
peated.  His  gaze  had  shifted  back  to  the  cradle 
again.  The  child  lay  with  open  eyes,  staring  up  at 
the  ceiling. 

"Now,  there  is  an  excellent  cottage  at  Pym  which 
I  will  have  put  in  repair  for  you  at  once,"  continued 
Challis.  "It  is  one  of  two  together,  but  next  door 
there  are  only  old  Metcalfe  and  his  wife  and  daugh 
ter,  who  will  give  you  no  trouble.  And  really,  Mrs. 
Stott,"  he  tore  his  regard  from  the  cradle  for  a 
moment,  "there  is  no  reason  in  the  world  why  you 
should  fear  the  attention  of  your  neighbours.  Here, 
in  Stoke,  I  admit,  they  have  been  under  a  complete 
misapprehension,  but  I  fancy  that  there  were  special 
reasons  for  that.  In  Pym  you  will  have  few  neigh 
bours,  and  you  need  not,  I'm  sure,  fear  their  criti 
cism." 


102  THE  WONDER 

"They  got  one  idiot  there,  already,"  Stott  re 
marked  somewhat  sulkily. 

"You  surely  do  not  regard  your  own  child  as 
likely  to  develop  into  an  idiot,  Stott!"  Challis's 
tone  was  one  of  rebuke. 

Stott  shifted  in  his  chair  and  his  eyes  flickered 
uncertainly  in  the  direction  of  the  cradle.  "Dr. 
O'Connell  says  'twill,"  he  said. 

"When  did  he  see  the  child  last?'*  asked  Challis. 

"Not  since  'twere  a  week  old,  sir,"  replied  Ellen. 

"In  that  case  his  authority  goes  for  nothing,  and, 
then,  by  the  way,  I  suppose  the  child  has  not  been 
vaccinated?" 

"Not  yet,  sir." 

"Better  have  that  done.  Get  Walters.  I'll  make 
myself  responsible.  I'll  get  him  to  come." 

Before  Challis  left,  it  was  decided  that  the  Stotts 
should  move  to  Pym  in  February. 

When  the  great  landowner  had  gone,  Mrs.  Stott 
looked  wistfully  at  her  husband. 

"You  ain't  fair  to  the  child,  George,"  she  said. 
"There's  more  than  you  or  any  one  sees,  more  than 
Mr.  Challis,  even." 

Stott  stared  moodily  into  the  fire. 

"And  it  won't  be  so  out  of  the  way  far  for  you, 
at  Pym,  with  your  bike,"  she  continued;  "and  we 
can't  stop  'ere." 


HIS  DEPARTURE  FROM  STOKE   103 

"We  might  'a  took  a  place  in  Ailesworth,"  said 
Stott. 

"But  it'll  be  so  much  'ealthier  for  'im  up  at  Pym," 
protested  Ellen.  "It'll  be  fine  air  up  there  for  'im." 

"Oh!  'im.  Yes,  all  right  for  'm,"  said  Stott,  and 
spat  into  the  fire.  Then  he  took  his  cap  and  went 
out.  He  kept  his  eyes  away  from  the  cradle. 


IV 


Harvey  Walters  lived  in  Wenderby,  but  his  con 
sulting-rooms  were  in  Harley  Street,  and  he  did  not 
practise  in  his  own  neighbourhood;  nevertheless  he 
vaccinated  Victor  Stott  to  oblige  Challis. 

"Well?"  asked  Challis  a  few  days  later,  "what 
do  you  make  of  him,  Walters?  No  cliches,  now, 
and  no  professional  jargon." 

"Candidly,  I  don't  know,"  replied  Walters,  after 
a  thoughtful  interval. 

"How  many  times  have  you  seen  him?" 

"Four,  altogether." 

"Good  patient?  Healthy  flesh  and  that  sort  of 
thing?" 

"Splendid." 

"Did  he  look  you  in  the  eyes?" 

"Once,  only  once,  the  first  time  I  visited  the 
house." 


104  THE  WONDER 

Challis  nodded.  "My  own  experience,  exactly. 
And  did  you  return  that  look  of  his?" 

"Not  willingly.  It  was,  I  confess,  not  altogether 
a  pleasant  experience." 

"Ah!" 

Challis  was  silent  for  a  few  moments,  and  it  was 
Walters  who  took  up  the  interrogatory. 

"Challis !" 

"Yes?" 

"Have  you,  now,  some  feeling  of,  shall  I  say, 
distaste  for  the  child?  Do  you  feel  that  you  have 
no  wish  to  see  it  again?" 

"Is  it  that  exactly?"  parried  Challis. 

"If  not,  what  is  it?"  asked  Walters. 

"In  my  own  case,"  said  Challis,  "I  can  find  an 
analogy  only  in  my  attitude  towards  my  'head'  at 
school.  In  his  presence  I  was  always  intimidated 
by  my  consciousness  of  his  superior  learning.  I 
felt  unpleasantly  ignorant,  small,  negligible.  Curi 
ously  enough,  I  see  something  of  the  same  expres 
sion  of  feeling  in  the  attitude  of  that  feeble  Crashaw 
to  myself.  Well,  one  makes  an  attempt  at  self- 
assertion,  a  kind  of  futile  bragging;  and  one  knows 
the  futility  of  it — at  the  time.  But,  afterwards, 
one  finds  excuse  and  seeks  to  belittle  the  personality 
and  attainment  of  the  person  one  feared.  At  school 
we  did  not  love  the  'head,'  and,  as  schoolboys  will, 
we  were  always  trying  to  run  him  down.  'Next 


HIS  DEPARTURE  FROM  STOKE   105 

time  he  rags  me,  I'll  cheek  him,'  was  our  usual  boast 
— but  we  never  did.  Let's  be  honest,  Walters,  are 
not  you  and  I  exhibiting  much  the  same  attitude 
towards  this  extraordinary  child?  Didn't  he  pro 
duce  the  effect  upon  you  that  I've  described? 
Didn't  you  have  a  little  of  the  'fifth  form*  feeling, — 
a  boy  under  examination?" 

Walters  smiled  and  screwed  his  mouth  on  one  side. 
"The  thing  is  so  absurd,"  he  said. 

"That  is  what  we  used  to  say  at  school,"  replied 
ChalUs. 


The  Stotts'  move  to  Pym  was  not  marked  by  any 
incident.  Mrs.  Stott  and  her  boy  were  not  unduly 
stared  upon  as  they  left  Stoke — the  children  were 
in  school — and  their  entry  into  the  new  cottage  was 
uneventful. 

They  moved  on  a  Thursday.  On  Sunday  morning 
they  had  their  first  visitor. 

He  came  mooning  round  the  fence  that  guarded 
the  Stotts'  garden  from  the  little  lane — it  was 
hardly  more  than  a  footpath.  He  had  a  great 
shapeless  head  that  waggled  heavily  on  his  shoul 
ders,  his  eyes  were  lustreless,  and  his  mouth  hung 
open,  frequently  his  tongue  lagged  out.  He  made 
strange,  inhuman  noises.  "A-ba-ba,"  was  his  near 
est  approach  to  speech. 


106  THE  WONDER 

"Now,  George,"  called  Mrs.  Stott,  "look  at  that. 
It's  Mrs.  'Arrison's  boy  what  Mrs.  Reade's  spoke 
about.  Now,  is  'e  anythink  like  ..."  she  paused, 
"any think  like  'im?"  and  she  indicated  the  cradle  in 
the  sitting-room. 

"What's  'e  want,  'angin'  round  'ere?"  replied 
Stott,  disregarding  the  comparison.  "  'Ere,  get 
off,"  he  called,  and  he  went  into  the  garden  and 
picked  up  a  stick. 

The  idiot  shambled  away. 


CHAPTER    VI 

HIS  FATHER'S  DESERTION 


THE  strongest  of  all  habits  is  that  of  acquiescence. 
It  is  this  habit  of  submission  that  explains  the 
admired  patience  and  long-suffering  of  the  abjectly 
poor.  The  lower  the  individual  falls,  the  more  un 
conquerable  becomes  the  inertia  of  mind  which  in 
terferes  between  him  and  revolt  against  his  condi 
tion.  All  the  miseries  of  the  flesh,  even  starvation, 
seem  preferable  to  the  making  of  an  effort  great 
enough  to  break  this  habit  of  submission. 

Ginger  Stott  was  not  poor.  For  a  man  in  his 
station  of  life  he  was  unusually  well  provided  for, 
but  in  him  the  habit  of  acquiescence  was  strongly 
rooted.  Before  his  son  was  a  year  old,  Stott  had 
grown  to  loathe  his  home,  to  dread  his  return  to  it, 
yet  it  did  not  occur  to  him  until  another  year  had 
passed  that  he  could,  if  he  would,  set  up  another 
establishment  on  his  own  account;  that  he  could, 
for  instance,  take  a  room  in  Ailesworth,  and  leave 
his  wife  and  child  in  the  cottage.  For  two  years  he 

107 


108  THE  WONDER 

did  not  begin  to  think  of  this  idea,  and  then  it 
was  suddenly  forced  upon  him. 

Ever  since  they  had  overheard  those  strangely 
intelligent  self-communings,  the  Stotts  had  been  per 
fectly  aware  that  their  wonderful  child  could  talk 
if  he  would.  Ellen  Mary,  pondering  that  single  ex 
pression,  had  read  a  world  of  meaning  into  her  son's 
murmurs  of  "learning."  In  her  simple  mind  she 
understood  that  his  deliberate  withholding  of  speech 
was  a  reserve  against  some  strange  manifestation. 

The  manifestation,  when  it  came,  was  as  remark 
able  as  it  was  unexpected. 

The  arm-chair  in  which  Henry  Challis  had  once 
sat  was  a  valued  possession,  dedicated  by  custom  to 
the  sole  use  of  George  Stott.  Ever  since  he  had  been 
married,  Stott  had  enjoyed  the  full  and  undisputed 
use  of  that  chair.  Except  at  his  meals,  he  never  sat 
in  any  other,  and  he  had  formed  a  fixed  habit  of 
throwing  himself  into  that  chair  immediately  on  his 
return  from  his  work  at  the  County  Ground. 

One  evening  in  November,  however,  when  his  son 
was  just  over  two  years  old,  Stott  found  his  sacred 
chair  occupied.  He  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then 
went  in  to  the  kitchen  to  find  his  wife. 

"That  child's  in  my  chair,"  he  said. 

Ellen  was  setting  the  tray  for  her  husband's  tea. 
"Yes  ...  I  know,"  she  replied.  "I — I  did  men 
tion  it,  but  'e  'asn't  moved." 


HIS  FATHER'S  DESERTION  109 

"Well,  take  'im  out,"  ordered  Stott,  but  he 
dropped  his  voice. 

"Does  it  matter?"  asked  his  wife.  "Tea's  just 
ready.  Time  that's  done  Vll  be  ready  for  'is  bath." 

"Why  can't  you  move  'im?"  persisted  Stott 
gloomily.  "  'E  knows  it's  my  chair." 

"There!  kettle's  boilin',  come  in  and  'ave  your 
tea,"  equivocated  the  diplomatic  Ellen. 

During  the  progress  of  the  meal,  the  child  still  sat 
quietly  in  his  father's  chair,  his  little  hands  resting 
on  his  knees,  his  eyes  wide  open,  their  gaze  ab 
stracted,  as  usual,  from  all  earthly  concerns. 

But  after  tea  Stott  was  heroic.  He  had  reached 
the  limit  of  his  endurance.  One  of  his  deep-seated 
habits  was  being  broken,  and  with  it  snapped  his 
habit  of  acquiescence.  He  rose  to  his  feet  and  faced 
his  son  with  determination,  and  Stott  had  a  bull  dog 
quality  about  him  that  was  not  easily  defeated. 

"Look  'ere!  Get  out!"  he  said.  "That's  my 
chair !" 

The  child  very  deliberately  withdrew  his  attention 
from  infinity  and  regarded  the  dogged  face  and  set 
jaw  of  his  father.  Stott  returned  the  stare  for  the 
fraction  of  a  second,  and  then  his  eyes  wavered  and 
dropped,  but  he  maintained  his  resolution. 

"You  got  to  get  out,"  he  said,  "or  I'll  make 
you." 


110  THE  WONDER 

Ellen  Mary  gripped  the  edge  of  the  table,  but  she 
made  no  attempt  to  interfere. 

There  was  a  tense,  strained  silence.  Then  Stott 
began  to  breathe  heavily.  He  lifted  his  long  arms 
for  a  moment  and  raised  his  eyes,  he  even  made  a 
tentative  step  towards  the  usurped  throne. 

The  child  sat  calm,  motionless ;  his  eyes  were 
fixed  upon  his  father's  face  with  a  sublime,  undevi- 
ating  confidence. 

Stott's  arms  fell  to  his  sides  again,  he  shuffled  his 
feet.  One  more  effort  he  made,  a  sudden,  vicious 
jerk,  as  though  he  would  do  the  thing  quickly  and 
be  finished  with  it;  then  he  shivered,  his  resolution 
broke,  and  he  shambled  evasively  to  the  door. 

"God  damn,"  he  muttered.  At  the  door  he  turned 
for  an  instant,  swore  again  in  the  same  words,  and 
went  out  into  the  night. 

To  Stott,  moodily  pacing  the  Common,  this  thing 
was  incomprehensible,  some  horrible  infraction  of 
the  law  of  normal  life,  something  to  be  condemned; 
altered,  if  possible.  It  was  unprecedented,  and  it 
was,  therefore,  wrong,  unnatural,  diabolic,  a  viola 
tion  of  the  sound  principles  which  uphold  human 
society. 

To  Ellen  Mary  it  was  merely  a  miracle,  the  fore 
shadowing  of  greater  miracles  to  come.  And  to  her 
was  manifested,  also,  a  minor  miracle,  for  when  his 


HIS  FATHER'S  DESERTION  111 

father  had  gone,  the  child  looked  at  his  mother  and 
gave  out  his  first  recorded  utterance. 

"'Oo  is  God?"  he  said. 

Ellen  Mary  tried  to  explain,  but  before  she  had 
stammered  out  many  words,  her  son  abstracted  his 
gaze,  climbed  down  out  of  the  chair,  and  intimated 
with  his  usual  grunt  that  he  desired  his  bath  and 
his  bed. 

n 

The  depths  of  Stott  were  stirred  that  night.  He 
had  often  said  that  "he  wouldn't  stand  it  much 
longer,"  but  the  words  were  a  mere  formula :  he  had 
never  even  weighed  their  intention.  As  he  paced 
the  Common,  he  muttered  them  again  to  the  night, 
with  new  Meaning;  he  saw  new  possibilities,  and 
saw  that  they  were  practicable.  "I've  'ad  enough," 
was  his  new  phrase,  and  he  added  another  that 
gave  evidence  of  a  new  attitude.  "Why  not?"  he 
said  again  and  again.  "And  why  not?" 

Stott's  mind  was  not  analytical.  He  did  not 
examine  his  problem,  weigh  this  and  that  and  draw 
a  balanced  deduction.  He  merely  saw  a  picture  of 
peace  and  quiet,  in  a  room  at  Ailesworth,  in  con 
venient  proximity  to  his  work  (he  made  an  admirable 
groundsman  and  umpire,  his  work  absorbed  him) 
and,  perhaps,  he  conceived  some  dim  ideal  of  pleas 
ant  evenings  spent  in  the  companionship  of  those 


THE  WONDER 

who  thought  in  the  same  terms  as  himself;  who 
shared  in  his  one  interest;  whose  speech  was  of 
form,  averages,  the  preparation  of  wickets,  and  all 
the  detail  of  cricket. 

Stott's  ambition  to  have  a  son  and  to  teach  him. 
the  mysteries  of  his  father's  success  had  been 
dwindling  for  some  time  past.  On  this  night  it  was 
finally  put  aside.  Stott's  "I've  'ad  enough"  may  be 
taken  to  include  that  frustrated  ideal.  No  more 
experiments  for  him,  was  the  pronouncement  that 
summed  up  his  decision. 

Still  there  were  difficulties.  Economically  he  was 
free,  he  could  allow  his  wife  thirty  shillings  a  week, 
more  than  enough  for  her  support  and  that  of  her 
child;  but — what  would  she  say,  how  would  she 
take  his  determination?  A  determination  it  was, 
not  a  proposal.  And  the  neighbours,  what  would 
they  say?  Stott  anticipated  a  fuss.  "She'll  say 
I've  married  'er,  and  it's  my  duty  to  stay  by  'er," 
was  his  anticipation  of  his  wife's  attitude.  He  did 
not  profess  to  understand  the  ways  of  the  sex,  but 
some  rumours  of  misunderstandings  between  hus 
bands  and  wives  of  his  own  class  had  filtered  through 
his  absorption  in  cricket. 

He  stumbled  home  with  a  mind  prepared  for  dis 
sension. 

He  found  his  wife  stitching  by  the  fire.  The  door 
at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  was  closed.  The  room 


HIS  FATHER'S  DESERTION  113 

presented  an  aspect  of  cleanly,  cheerftil  comfort; 
but  Stott  entered  with  dread,  not  because  he  feared 
to  meet  his  wife,  but  because  there  was  a  terror 
sleeping  in  that  house. 

His  armchair  was  empty  now,  but  he  hesitated 
before  he  sat  down  in  it.  He  took  off  his  cap  and 
rubbed  the  seat  and  back  of  the  chair  vigorously:  a 
child  of  evil  had  polluted  it,  the  chair  might  still 
hold  enchantment.  .  .  . 

"I've  'ad  enough,"  was  his  preface,  and  there 
was  no  need  for  any  further  explanation. 

Ellen  Mary  let  her  hands  fall  into  her  lap,  and 
stared  dreamily  at  the  fire. 

"I'm  sorry  it's  come  to  this,  George,"  she  said, 
"but  it  'asn't  been  my  fault  no  more'n  it's  been 
your'n.  Of  course  I've  seen  it  a-comin',  and  I 
knowed  it  'ad  to  be,  some  time;  but  I  don't  think 
there  need  be  any  'ard  words  over  it.  I  don't  expec' 
you  to  understand  'im,  no  more'n  I  do  myself — it 
isn't  in  nature  as  you  should,  but  all  said  and  done, 
there's  no  bones  broke,  and  if  we  'ave  to  part,  there's 
no  reason  as  we  shouldn't  part  peaceable." 

That  speech  said  nearly  everything.  Afterwards 
it  was  only  a  question  of  making  arrangements,  and 
in  that  there  was  no  difficulty. 

Another  man  might  have  felt  a  little  hurt,  a  little 
neglected  by  the  absence  of  any  show  of  feeling 
on  his  wife's  part,  but  Stott  passed  it  by.  He  was 


114  THE  WONDER 

singularly  free  from  all  sentimentality;  certain 
primitive,  human  emotions  seem  to  have  played  no 
part  in  his  character.  At  this  moment  he  certainly 
had  no  thought  that  he  was  being  carelessly  treated; 
he  wanted  to  be  free  from  the  oppression  of  that 
horror  upstairs — so  he  figured  it — and  the  way  was 
made  easy  for  him. 

He  nodded  approval,  and  made  no  sign  of  any 
feeling. 

"I  shall  go  to-morrer,"  he  said,  and  then,  "I'll 
sleep  down  'ere  to-night."  He  indicated  the  sofa 
upon  which  he  had  slept  for  so  many  nights  at 
Stoke,  after  his  tragedy  had  been  born  to  him. 

Ellen  Mary  had  said  nearly  everything,  but  when 
she  had  made  up  a  bed  for  her  husband  in  the  sit 
ting-room,  she  paused,  candle  in  hand,  before  she 
bade  him  good-night. 

"Don't  wish  'im  'arm,  George,"  she  said.  "  'E's 
different  from  us,  and  we  don't  understand  'im 
proper,  but  some  day " 

"I  don't  wish  'im  no  'arm,"  replied  Stott,  and 
shuddered.  "I  don't  wish  'im  no  'arm,"  he  repeated, 
as  he  kicked  off  the  boot  he  had  been  unlacing. 

"You  mayn't  never  see  'im  again,"  added  Ellen 
Mary. 

Stott  stood  upright.  In  his  socks,  he  looked  no 
ticeably  shorter  than  his  wife.  "I  suppose  not,"  he 


HIS  FATHER'S  DESERTION  115 

said,  and  gave  a  deep  sigh  of  relief.  "Well,  thank 
Gawd  for  that,  anyway." 

Ellen  Mary  drew  her  lips  together.  For  some 
dim,  unrealised  reason,  she  wished  her  husband  to 
leave  the  cottage  with  a  feeling  of  goodwill  towards 
the  child,  but  she  saw  that  her  wish  was  little  likely 
to  be  fulfilled. 

"Well,  good-night,  George,"  she  said,  after  a  few 
seconds  of  silence,  and  she  added  pathetically,  as 
she  turned  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs:  "Don't  wish 
'im  no  harm." 

"I  won't,"  was  all  the  assurance  she  received. 

When  she  had  gone,  and  the  door  was  closed 
behind  her,  Stott  padded  silently  to  the  window  and 
looked  out.  A  young  moon  was  dipping  into  a  bank 
of  cloud,  and  against  the  feeble  brightness  he  could 
see  an  uncertain  outline  of  bare  trees.  He  pulled 
the  curtain  across  the  window,  and  turned  back  to 
the  warm  cheerfulness  of  the  room. 

"Shan't  never  see  'im  again,"  he  murmured, 
"thank  Gawd!"  He  undressed  quietly,  blew  out  the 
lamp  and  got  between  the  sheets  of  his  improvised 
bed.  For  some  minutes  he  stared  at  the  leaping 
shadows  on  the  ceiling.  He  was  wondering  why  he 
had  ever  been  afraid  of  the  child.  "After  all,  Vs 
only  a  blarsted  freak,"  was  the  last  thought  in  his 
mind  before  he  fell  asleep. 

And  with  that  pronouncement  Stott  passes  out  of 


116  THE  WONDER 

the  history  of  the  Hampdenshire  Wonder.  He  was 
in  many  ways  an  exceptional  man,  and  his  name 
will  always  be  associated  with  the  splendid  successes 
of  Hampdenshire  cricket,  both  before  and  after  the 
accident  that  destroyed  his  career  as  a  bowler.  He 
was  not  spoiled  by  his  triumphs :  those  two  years  of 
celebrity  never  made  Stott  conceited,  and  there  are 
undoubtedly  many  traits  in  his  character  which  call 
for  our  admiration.  He  is  still  in  his  prime,  an  ac 
tive  agent  in  rinding  talent  for  his  county,  and  in 
developing  that  talent  when  found.  Hampdenshire 
has  never  come  into  the  field  with  weak  bowling,  and 
all  the  credit  belongs  to  Ginger  Stott. 

One  sees  that  he  was  not  able  to  appreciate  the 
wonderful  gifts  of  his  own  son,  but  Stott  was  an 
ignorant  man,  and  men  of  intellectual  attainment 
failed  even  as  Stott  failed  in  this  respect.  Ginger 
Stott  was  a  success  in  his  own  walk  of  life,  and  that 
fact  should  command  our  admiration.  It  is  not 
for  us  to  judge  whether  his  attainments  were  more 
or  less  noble  than  the  attainments  of  his  son. 


ra 


One  morning,  two  days  after  Stott  had  left  the 
cottage,  Ellen  Mary  was  startled  by  the  sudden  en 
trance  of  her  child  into  the  sitting-room.  He  tod- 


HIS  FATHER'S  DESERTION  117 

died  in  hastily  from  the  garden,  and  pointed  with 
excitement  through  the  window. 

Ellen  Mary  was  frightened;  she  had  never  seen 
her  child  other  than  deliberate,  calm,  judicial,  in 
all  his  movements.  In  a  sudden  spasm  of  motherly 
love  she  bent  to  pick  him  up,  to  caress  him. 

"No,"  said  the  Wonder,  with  something  that 
approached  disgust  in  his  tone  and  attitude.  "No," 
he  repeated.  "What's  'e  want  'angin'  round  'ere? 
Send  'im  off."  He  pointed  again  to  the  window. 

Ellen  Mary  looked  out  and  saw  a  grinning,  slob 
bering  obscenity  at  the  gate.  Stott  had  scared  the 
idiot  away,  but  in  some  curious,  inexplicable  man 
ner  he  had  learned  that  his  persecutor  and  enemy 
had  gone,  and  he  had  returned,  and  had  made  over 
tures*  to  the  child  that  walked  so  sedately  up  and 
down  the  path  of  the  little  garden. 

Ellen  Mary  went  out.     "You  be  off,"  she  said. 

"A-ba,  a-ba-ba,"  bleated  the  idiot,  and  pointed 
at  the  house. 

"Be  off,  I  tell  you!"  said  Ellen  Mary  fiercely. 
But  still  the  idiot  babbled  and  pointed. 

Ellen  Mary  stooped  to  pick  up  a  stick.  The  idiot 
blenched ;  he  understood  that  movement  well  enough, 
though  it  was  a  stone  he  anticipated,  not  a  stick; 
with  a  foolish  cry  he  dropped  his  arms  and  slouched 
away  down  the  lane. 


CHAPTER    VII 

HIS   DEBT   TO   HENRY   CHALUS 


CHAI-LIS  was  out  of  England  for  more  than  three 
years  after  that  one  brief  intrusion  of  his  into  the 
affairs  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Stott.  During  the  interval 
he  was  engaged  upon  those  investigations,  the  re 
sults  of  which  are  embodied  in  his  monograph  on 
the  primitive  peoples  of  the  Melanesian  Archipelago. 
It  may  be  remembered  that  he  followed  Dr.  W.  H.  R. 
Rivers'  and  Dr.  C.  G.  Seligmann's  inquiry  into  the 
practice  and  theory  of  native  customs.  Challis  de 
veloped  his  study  more  particularly  with  reference 
to  the  earlier  evolution  of  Totemism,  and  he  was 
able  by  his  patient  work  among  the  Polynesians  of 
Tikopia  and  Ontong  Java,  and  his  comparisons  of 
those  sporadic  tribes  with  the  Papuasians  of  East 
ern  New  Guinea,  to  correct  some  of  the  inferences 
with  regard  to  the  origins  of  exogamy  made  by 
Dr.  J.  G.  Frazer  in  his  great  work  on  that  subject, 
published  some  years  before.  A  summary  of  Chal- 
lis's  argument  may  be  found  in  vol.  li.  of  the  Journal 
of  the  Royal  Anthropological  Institute. 

118 


HIS  DEBT  TO  CHALLIS  119 

When  he  returned  to  England,  Challis  shut  him 
self  up  at  Chilborough.  He  had  engaged  a  young 
Cambridge  man,  Gregory  Lewes,  as  his  secretary 
and  librarian,  and  the  two  devoted  all  their  time 
to  planning,  writing,  and  preparing  the  monograph 
referred  to. 

In  such  circumstances  it  is  hardly  remarkable 
that  Challis  should  have  completely  forgotten  the 
existence  of  the  curious  child  which  had  intrigued 
his  interest  nearly  four  years  earlier,  and  it  was  not 
until  he  had  been  back  at  Challis  Court  for  more 
than  eight  months,  that  the  incursion  of  Percy  Cra- 
shaw  revived  his  memory  of  the  phenomenon. 

The  library  at  Challis  Court  occupies  a  suite  of 
three  rooms.  The  first  and  largest  of  the  three  is 
part  of  the  original  structure  of  the  house.  Its 
primitive  use  had  been  that  of  a  chapel,  a  one-storey 
building  jutting  out  from  the  west  wing.  This 
Challis  had  converted  into  a  very  practicable  library 
with  a  continuous  gallery  running  round  at  a  height 
of  seven  feet  from  the  floor,  and  in  it  he  had  suc 
ceeded  in  arranging  some  20,000  volumes.  But  as 
his  store  of  books  grew — and  at  one  period  it  had 
grown  very  rapidly — he  had  been  forced  to  build, 
and  so  he  had  added  first  one  and  then  the  other  of 
the  two  additional  rooms  which  became  necessary. 
Outside,  the  wing  had  the  appearance  of  an  unduly 
elongated  chapel,  as  he  had  continued  the  original 


120  THE  WONDER 

roof  over  his  addition,  and  copied  the  style  of  the 
old  chapel  architecture.  The  only  external  altera 
tion  he  had  made  had  been  the  lowering  of  the  sills 
of  the  windows. 

It  was  in  the  furthest  of  these  three  rooms  that 
Challis  and  his  secretary  worked,  and  it  was  from 
here  that  they  saw  the  gloomy  figure  of  the  Rev. 
Percy  Crashaw  coming  up  the  drive. 

This  was  the  third  time  he  had  called.  His  two 
former  visits  had  been  unrewarded,  but  that  morning 
a  letter  had  come  from  him,  couched  in  careful 
phrases,  the  purport  of  which  had  been  a  request 
for  an  interview  on  a  "matter  of  some  moment." 

Challis  frowned,  and  rose  from  among  an  ordered 
litter  of  manuscripts. 

"I  shall  have  to  see  this  man,"  he  said  to  Lewes, 
and  strode  hastily  out  of  the  library. 

Crashaw  was  perfunctorily  apologetic,  and  Chal 
lis,  looking  somewhat  out  of  place,  smoking  a  heavy 
wooden  pipe  in  the  disused,  bleak  drawing-room, 
waited,  almost  silent,  until  his  visitor  should  come 
to  the  point. 

"...  and  the — er — matter  of  some  moment,  I 
mentioned,"  Crashaw  mumbled  on,  "is,  I  should  say, 
not  altogether  irrelevant  to  the  work  you  are  at 
present  engaged  upon." 

"Indeed!"  commented  Challis,  with  a  lift  of  his 


HIS  DEBT  TO  CHALLIS 

thick  eyebrows,  "no  Polynesians  come  to  settle  in 
Stoke,  I  trust?" 

"On  broad  lines,  relevant  on  broad,  anthropo 
logical  lines,  I  mean,"  said  Crashaw. 

Challis  grunted.     "Go  on!"  he  said. 

"You  may  remember  that  curious — er — abnormal 
child  of  the  Stotts?"  asked  Crashaw. 

"Stotts  ?  Wait  a  minute.  Yes !  Curious  infant 
with  an  abnormally  intelligent  expression  and  the 
head  of  a  hydrocephalic  ?" 

Crashaw  nodded.  "Its  development  has  upset 
me  in  a  most  unusual  way,"  he  continued.  "I  must 
confess  that  I  am  entirely  at  a  loss,  and  I  really 
believe  that  you  are  the  only  person  who  can  give 
me  any  intelligent  assistance  in  the  matter." 

"Very  good  of  you,"  murmured  Challis. 

"You  see,"  said  Crashaw,  warming  to  his  subject 
and  interlacing  his  fingers,  "I  happen,  by  the  merest 
accident,  I  may  say,  to  be  the  child's  godfather." 

"Ah!  you  have  responsibilities!"  commented 
Challis,  with  the  first  glint  of  amusement  in  his 
eyes. 

"I  have,"  said  Crashaw,  "undoubtedly  I  have." 
He  leaned  forward  with  his  hands  still  clasped  to 
gether,  and  rested  his  forearms  on  his  thighs.  As 
he  talked  he  worked  his  hands  up  and  down  from 
the  wrists,  by  way  of  emphasis.  "I  am  aware," 
he  went  on,  "that  on  one  point  I  can  expect  little 


122  THE  WONDER 

sympathy  from  you,  but  I  make  an  appeal  to  you, 
nevertheless,  as  a  man  of  science  and — and  a  magis 
trate;  for  .  .  .  for  assistance." 

He  paused  and  looked  up  at  Challis,  received  a 
nod  of  encouragement  and  developed  his  grievance. 

"I  want  to  have  the  child  certified  as  an  idiot,  and 
sent  to  an  asylum." 

"On  what  grounds?" 

"He  is  undoubtedly  lacking  mentally,"  said  Cra- 
shaw,  "and  his  influence  is,  or  may  be,  malignant." 

"Explain,"  suggested  Challis. 

For  a  few  seconds  Crashaw  paused,  intent  on  the 
pattern  of  the  carpet,  and  worked  his  hands  slowly. 
Challis  saw  that  the  man's  knuckles  were  white,  that 
he  was  straining  his  hands  together. 

"He  has  denied  God,"  he  said  at  last  with  great 
solemnity. 

Challis  rose  abruptly,  and  went  over  to  the  win 
dow;  the  next  words  were  spoken  to  his  back. 

"I  have,  myself,  heard  this  infant  of  four  years 
use  the  most  abhorrent  blasphemy." 

Challis  had  composed  himself.  "Oh !  I  say ;  that's 
bad,"  he  said  as  he  turned  towards  the  room  again. 

Crashaw's  head  was  still  bowed.  "And  whatever 
may  be  your  own  philosophic  doubts,"  he  said,  "I 
think  you  will  agree  with  me  that  in  such  a  case  as 
this,  something  should  be  done.  To  me  it  is  hor 
rible,  most  horrible." 


HIS  DEBT  TO  CHALLIS  123 

"Couldn't  you  give  me  any  details?"  asked  Challis. 

"They  are  most  repugnant  to  me,"  answered  Cra- 
shaw. 

"Quite,  quite!  I  understand.  But  if  you  want 
any  assistance.  .  .  .  Or  do  you  expect  me  to  in 
vestigate?" 

"I  thought  it  my  duty,  as  his  godfather,  to  see  to 
the  child's  spiritual  welfare,"  said  Crashaw,  ignor 
ing  the  question  put  to  him,  "although  he  is  not, 
now,  one  of  my  parishioners.  I  first  went  to  Pym 
some  few  months  ago,  but  the  mother  interposed 
between  me  and  the  child.  I  was  not  permitted  to 
see  him.  It  was  not  until  a  few  weeks  back  that  I 
met  him — on  the  Common,  alone.  Of  course,  I  recog 
nised  him  at  once.  He  is  quite  unmistakable." 

"And  then?"  prompted  Challis. 

"I  spoke  to  him,  and  he  replied  with,  with — an 
abstracted  air,  without  looking  at  me.  He  has  not 
the  appearance  in  any  way  of  a  normal  child.  I 
made  a  few  ordinary  remarks  to  him,  and  then  I 
asked  him  if  he  knew  his  catechism.  He  replied 
that  he  did  not  know  the  word  'catechism.'  I  may 
mention  that  he  speaks  the  dialect  of  the  common 
people,  but  he  has  a  much  larger  vocabulary.  His 
mother  has  taught  him  to  read,  it  appears." 

"He  seems  to  have  a  curiously  apt  intelligence," 
interpolated  Challis. 

Crashaw  wrung  his   clasped  hands   and  put  the 


124  THE  WONDER 

comment  on  one  side.  "I  then  spoke  to  him  of  some 
of  the  broad  principles  of  the  Church's  teaching," 
he  continued.  "He  listened  quietly,  without  in 
terruption,  and  when  I  stopped,  he  prompted  me 
with  questions." 

"One  minute !"  said  Challis.  "Tell  me ;  what  sort 
of  questions?  That  is  most  important." 

"I  do  not  remember  precisely,"  returned  Cra- 
shaw,  "but  one,  I  think,  was  as  to  the  sources  of  the 
Bible.  I  did  not  read  anything  beyond  simple  and 
somewhat  unusual  curiosity  into  those  questions,  I 
may  say.  ...  I  talked  to  him  for  some  consider 
able  time — I  dare  say  for  more  than  an  hour.  .  .  ." 

"No  signs  of  idiocy,  apparently,  during  all  this?" 

"I  consider  it  less  a  case  of  idiocy  than  one  of 
possession,  maleficent  possession,"  replied  Crashaw. 
He  did  not  see  his  host's  grim  smile. 

"Well,    and   the   blasphemy?"    prompted   Challis. 

"At  the  end  of  my  instruction,  the  child,  still 
looking  away  from  me,  shook  his  head  and  said  that 
what  I  had  told  him  was  not  true.  I  confess  that 
I  was  staggered.  Possibly  I  lost  my  temper,  some 
what.  I  may  have  grown  rather  warm  in  my  speech. 
And  at  last  .  .  ."  Crashaw  clenched  his  hands  and 
spoke  in  such  a  low  voice  that  Challis  could  hardly 
hear  him.  "At  last  he  turned  to  me  and  said  things 
which  I  could  not  possibly  repeat,  which  I  pray  that 


HIS  DEBT  TO  CHALLIS  125 

I  may  never  hear  again  from  the  mouth  of  any  living 
being." 

"Profanities,  obscenities,  er — swear-words,"  sug 
gested  Chain's. 

"Blasphemy,  blasphemy,"  cried  Crashaw.  "Oh! 
I  wonder  that  I  did  not  injure  the  child." 

Challis  moved  over  to  the  window  again.  For 
more  than  a  minute  there  was  silence  in  that  big, 
neglected-looking  room.  Then  Crashaw's  feelings 
began  to  find  vent  in  words,  in  a  long  stream  of  in 
sistent  asseverations,  pitched  on  a  rising  note  that 
swelled  into  a  diapason  of  indignation.  He  spoke 
of  the  position  and  power  of  his  Church,  of  its  in 
fluence  for  good  among  the  uneducated,  agricultural 
population  among  which  he  worked.  He  enlarged 
on  the  profound  necessity  for  a  living  religion  among 
the  poorer  classes ;  and  on  the  revolutionary  ten 
dency  towards  socialism,  which  would  be  encouraged 
if  the  great  restraining  power  of  a  creed  that  en 
forced  subservience  to  temporal  power  was  once 
shaken.  And,  at  last,  he  brought  his  arguments  to 
a  head  by  saying  that  the  example  of  a  child  of  four 
years  old,  openly  defying  a  minister  of  the  Church, 
and  repudiating  the  very  conception  of  the  Deity, 
was  an  example  which  might  produce  a  profound 
effect  upon  the  minds  of  a  slow-thinking  people ;  that 
such  an  example  might  be  the  leaven  which  would 
leaven  the  whole  lump;  and  that  for  the  welfare  of 


126  THE  WONDER 

the  whole  neighbourhood  it  was  an  instant  neces 
sity  that  the  child  should  be  put  under  restraint, 
his  tongue  bridled,  and  any  opportunity  to  pro 
claim  his  blasphemous  doctrines  forcibly  denied  to 
him.  Long  before  he  had  concluded,  Crashaw  was 
on  his  feet,  pacing  the  room,  declaiming,  waving  his 
arms. 

Challis  stood,  unanswering,  by  the  window.  He 
did  not  seem  to  hear ;  he  did  not  even  shrug  his  shoul 
ders.  Not  till  Crashaw  had  brought  his  argument 
to  a  culmination,  and  boomed  into  a  dramatic 
silence,  did  Challis  turn  and  look  at  him. 

"But  you  cannot  confine  a  child  in  an  asylum  on 
those  grounds,"  he  said;  "the  law  does  not  per 
mit  it." 

"The  Church  is  above  the  law,"  replied  Crashaw. 

"Not  in  these  days,"  said  Challis ;  "it  is  by  law 
established !" 

Crashaw  began  to  speak  again,  but  Challis  waved 
him  down.  "Quite,  quite.  I  see  your  point,"  he 
said,  "but  I  must  see  this  child  myself.  Believe 
me,  I  will  see  what  can  be  done.  I  will,  at  least,  try 
to  prevent  his  spreading  his  opinions  among  the 
yokels."  He  smiled  grimly.  "I  quite  agree  with 
you  that  that  is  a  consummation  which  is  not  to  be 
desired." 

"You  will  see  him  soon?"  asked  Crashaw. 

"To-day,"  returned  Challis. 


HIS  DEBT  TO  CHALLIS  127 

"And  you  will  let  me  see  you  again,  afterwards?" 
"Certainly." 

Crashaw  still  hesitated  for  a  moment.     "I  might, 
perhaps,  come  with  you,"  he  ventured. 
"On  no  account,"  said  Challis. 


n 

Gregory  Lewes  was  astonished  at  the  long  absence 
of  his  chief;  he  was  more  astonished  when  his  chief 
returned. 

"I  want  you  to  come  up  with  me  to  Pym,  Lewes," 
said  Challis ;  "one  of  my  tenants  has  been  confound 
ing  the  rector  of  Stoke.  It  is  a  matter  that  must  be 
attended  to." 

Lewes  was  a  fair-haired,  hard-working  young  man, 
with  a  bent  for  science  in  general  that  had  not  yet 
crystallised  into  any  special  study.  He  had  a  curi 
ous  sense  of  humour,  that  proved  something  of  an 
obstacle  in  the  way  of  specialisation.  He  did  not 
take  Challis's  speech  seriously. 

"Are  you  going  as  a  magistrate?"  he  asked;  "or 
is  it  «,  matter  for  scientific  investigation?" 

"Both,"  said  Challis.     "Come  along!" 

"Are  you  serious,  sir?"    Lewes  still  doubted. 

"Intensely.     I'll  explain  as  we  go,"  said  Challis. 

It  is  not  more  than  a  mile  and  a  half  from  Challis 
Court  to  Pym.  The  nearest  way  is  by  a  cart  track 


128  THE  WONDER 

through  the  beech  woods,  that  winds  up  the  hill  to 
the  Common.  In  winter  this  track  is  almost  im 
passable,  over  boot-top  in  heavy  mud ;  but  the  early 
spring  had  been  fairly  dry,  and  Challis  chose  this 
route. 

As  they  walked,  Challis  went  through  the  early 
history  of  Victor  Stott,  so  far  as  it  was  known  to 
him.  "I  had  forgotten  the  child,"  he  said;  "I 
thought  it  would  die.  You  see,  it  is  by  way  of  being 
an  extraordinary  freak  of  nature.  It  has,  or  had, 
a  curious  look  of  intelligence.  You  must  remember 
that  when  I  saw  it,  it  was  only  a  few  months  old. 
But  even  then  it  conveyed  in  some  inexplicable  way 
a  sense  of  power.  Every  one  felt  it.  There  was 
Harvey  Walters,  for  instance — he  vaccinated  it;  I 
made  him  confess  that  the  child  made  him  feel  like 
a  school-boy.  Only,  you  understand,  it  had  not 
spoken  then — 

"What  conveyed  that  sense  of  power?"  asked 
Lewes. 

"The  way  it  had  of  looking  at  you,  staring  you 
out  of  countenance,  sizing  you  up  and  rejecting  you. 
It  did  that,  I  give  you  my  word ;  it  did  all  that  at  a 
few  months  old,  and  without  the  power  of  speech. 
Only,  you  see,  I  thought  it  was  merely  a  freak  of 
some  kind,  some  abnormality  that  disgusted  one  in 
an  unanalysed  way.  And  I  thought  it  would  die. 


HIS  DEBT  TO  CHALLIS  129 

I  certainly  thought  it  would  die.  I  am  most  eager 
to  see  this  new  development." 

^l  haven't  heard.  It  confounded  Crashaw,  you 
say  ?  And  it  cannot  be  more  than  four  or  five  years 
old  now?" 

"Four;  four  and  a  half,"  returned  Challis,  and 
then  the  conversation  was  interrupted  by  the  neces 
sity  of  skirting  a  tiny  morass  of  wet  leaf-mould  that 
lay  in  a  hollow. 

"Confounded  Crashaw?  I  should  think  so,"  Chal 
lis  went  on,  when  they  had  found  firm  going  again. 
"The  good  man  would  not  soil  his  devoted  tongue 
by  any  condescension  to  oratio  recta,  but  I  gath 
ered  that  the  child  had  made  light  of  his  divine  au 
thority." 

"Great  Caesar!"  ejaculated  Lewes;  "but  that  is 
immense.  What  did  Crashaw  do — shake  him?" 

"No;  he  certainly  did  not  lay  hands  on  him  at 
all.  His  own  expression  was  that  he  did  not  know 
how  it  was  he  did  not  do  the  child  an  injury.  That 
is  one  of  the  things  that  interest  me  enormously. 
That  power  I  spoke  of  must  have  been  retained. 
Crashaw  must  have  been  blue  with  anger;  he  could 
hardly  repeat  the  story  to  me,  he  was  so  agitated. 
It  would  have  surprised  me  less  if  he  had  told  me  he 
had  murdered  the  child.  That  I  could  have  under 
stood,  perfectly." 


130  THE  WONDER 

"It  is,  of  course,  quite  incomprehensible  to  me, 
as  yet,"  commented  Lewes. 

When  they  came  out  of  the  woods  on  to  the 
stretch  of  common  from  which  you  can  see  the  great 
swelling  undulations  of  the  Hampden  Hills,  Challis 
stopped.  A  spear  of  April  sunshine  had  pierced  the 
load  of  cloud  towards  the  west,  and  the  bank  of  wood 
behind  them  gave  shelter  from  the  cold  wind  that 
had  blown  fiercely  all  the  afternoon. 

"It  is  a  fine  prospect,"  said  Challis,  with  a  sweep 
of  his  hand.  "I  sometimes  feel,  Lewes,  that  we 
are  over-intent  on  our  own  little  narrow  interests. 
Here  are  you  and  I,  busying  ourselves  in  an  at 
tempt  to  throw  some  little  light — a  very  little  it 
must  be — on  some  petty  problems  of  the  origin  of 
our  race.  We  are  looking  downwards,  downwards 
always ;  digging  in  old  muck-heaps ;  raking  up  all 
kinds  of  unsavoury  rubbish  to  prove  that  we  are 
born  out  of  the  dirt.  And  we  have  never  a  thought 
for  the  future  in  all  our  work, — a  future  that  may 
be  glorious,  who  knows?  Here,  perhaps  in  this  vil 
lage,  insignificant  from  most  points  of  view,  but 
set  in  a  country  that  should  teach  us  to  raise  our 
eyes  from  the  ground ;  here,  in  this  tiny  hamlet,  is 
living  a  child  who  may  become  a  greater  than  Socra 
tes  or  Shakespeare,  a  child  who  may  revolutionise 
our  conceptions  of  time  and  space.  There  have  been 
great  men  in  the  past  who  have  done  that,  Lewes; 


HIS  DEBT  TO  CHALLIS  131 

there  is  no  reason  for  us  to  doubt  that  still  greater 
men  may  succeed  them." 

"No;  there  is  no  reason  for  us  to  doubt  that," 
said  Lewes,  and  they  walked  on  in  silence  towards 
the  Stotts'  cottage. 

in 

Challis  knocked  and  walked  in.  They  found  Ellen 
Mary  and  her  son  at  the  tea-table. 

The  mother  rose  to  her  feet  and  dropped  a  re 
spectful  curtsy.  The  boy  glanced  once  at  Gregory 
Lewes  and  then  continued  his  meal  as  if  he  were  un 
aware  of  any  strange  presence  in  the  room. 

"I'm  sorry.  I  am  afraid  we  are  interrupting 
you,"  Challis  apologised.  "Pray  sit  down,  Mrs. 
Stott,  and  go  on  with  your  tea." 

"Thank  you,  sir.  I'd  just  finished,  sir,"  said 
Ellen  Mary,  and  remained  standing  with  an  air  of 
quiet  deference. 

Challis  took  the  celebrated  armchair,  and  mo 
tioned  Lewes  to  the  window-sill,  the  nearest  avail 
able  seat  for  him.  "Please  sit  down,  Mrs.  Stott," 
he  said,  and  Ellen  Mary  sat,  apologetically. 

The  boy  pushed  his  cup  towards  his  mother,  and 
pointed  to  the  teapot;  he  made  a  grunting  sound 
to  attract  her  attention. 

"You'll  excuse  me,  sir,"  murmured  Ellen  Mary, 
and  she  refilled  the  cup  and  passed  it  back  to  her 


132  THE  WONDER 

son,  who  received  it  without  any  acknowledgment. 
Challis  and  Lewes  were  observing  the  boy  intently, 
but  he  took  not  the  least  notice  of  their  scrutiny. 
He  discovered  no  trace  of  self-consciousness ;  Henry 
Challis  and  Gregory  Lewes  appeared  to  have  no 
place  in  the  world  of  his  abstraction. 

The  figure  the  child  presented  to  his  two  observers 
was  worthy  of  careful  scrutiny. 

At  the  age  of  four  and  a  half  years,  the  Wonder 
was  bald,  save  for  a  few  straggling  wisps  of  reddish 
hair  above  the  ears  and  at  the  base  of  the  skull,  and 
a  weak,  sparse  down,  of  the  same  colour,  on  the  top 
of  his  head.  The  eyebrows,  too,  were  not  marked  by 
any  line  of  hair,  but  the  eyelashes  were  thick,  though 
short,  and  several  shades  darker  than  the  hair  on 
the  skull. 

The  face  is  not  so  easily  described.  The  mouth 
and  chin  were  relatively  small,  overshadowed  by  that 
broad  cliff  of  forehead,  but  they  were  firm,  the  chin 
well  moulded,  the  lips  thin  and  compressed.  The 
nose  was  unusual  when  seen  in  profile.  There  was 
no  sign  of  a  bony  bridge,  but  it  was  markedly  curved 
and  jutted  out  at  a  curious  angle  from  the  line  of 
the  face.  The  nostrils  were  wide  and  open.  None 
of  these  features  produced  any  effect  of  childish 
ness  ;  but  this  effect  was  partly  achieved  by  the  con 
tours  of  the  cheeks,  and  by  the  fact  that  there  was 
no  indication  of  any  lines  on  the  face. 


HIS  DEBT  TO  CHALLIS  133 

The  eyes  nearly  always  wore  their  usual  expres 
sion  of  abstraction.  It  was  very  rarely  that  the 
Wonder  allowed  his  intelligence  to  be  exhibited  by 
that  medium.  When  he  did,  the  effect  was  strangely 
disconcerting,  blinding.  One  received  an  impres 
sion  of  extraordinary  concentration:  it  was  as 
though  for  an  instant  the  boy  was  able  to  give  one 
a  glimpse  of  the  wonderful  force  of  his  intellect. 
When  he  looked  one  in  the  face  with  intention,  and 
suddenly  allowed  one  to  realise,  as  it  were,  all  the 
dominating  power  of  his  brain,  one  shrank  into  in 
significance,  one  felt  as  an  ignorant,  intelligent  man 
may  feel  when  confronted  with  some  elaborate  the 
orem  of  the  higher  mathematics.  "Is  it  possible  that 
any  one  can  really  understand  these  things?"  such 
a  man  might  think  with  awe,  and  in  the  same  way 
one  apprehended  some  vast,  inconceivable  possibili 
ties  of  mind-function  when  the  Wonder  looked  at  one 
with,  as  I  have  said,  intention. 

He  was  dressed  in  a  little  jacket-suit,  and  wore  a 
linen  collar;  the  knickerbockers,  loose  and  badly 
cut,  fell  a  little  below  the  knees.  His  stockings  were 
of  worsted,  his  boots  clumsy  and  thick-soled,  though 
relatively  tiny.  One  had  the  impression  always  that 
his  body  was  fragile  and  small,  but  as  a  matter  of 
fact  the  body  and  limbs  were,  if  anything,  slightly 
better  developed  than  those  of  the  average  child  of 
four  and  a  half  years. 


134  THE  WONDER 

Challis  had  ample  opportunity  to  make  these 
observations  at  various  periods.  He  began  them 
as  he  sat  in  the  Stotts'  cottage.  At  first  he  did  not 
address  the  boy  directly. 

"I  hear  your  son  has  been  having  a  religious  con 
troversy  with  Mr.  Crashaw,"  was  his  introduction  to 
the  object  of  his  visit. 

"Indeed,  sir!"  Plainly  this  was  not  news  to  Mrs. 
Stott. 

"Your  son  told  you?"  suggested  Challis. 

"Oh!  no,  sir,  'e  never  told  me,"  replied  Mrs.  Stott, 
"  'twas  Mr.  Crashaw.  'E's  been  'ere  several  times 
lately." 

Challis  looked  sharply  at  the  boy,  but  he  gave  no 
sign  that  he  heard  what  was  passing. 

"Yes ;  Mr.  Crashaw  seems  rather  upset  about  it." 

"I'm  sorry,  sir,  but " 

"Yes;  speak  plainly,"  prompted  Challis.  "I  as 
sure  you  that  you  will  have  no  cause  to  regret  any 
confidence  you  may  make  to  me." 

"I  can't  see  as  it's  any  business  of  Mr.  Crashaw's, 
sir,  if  you'll  forgive  me  for  sayin'  so." 

"He  has  been  worrying  you?" 

"  'E  'as,  sir,  but  'e  .  .  .  "  she  glanced  at  her  son 
— she  laid  a  stress  on  the  pronoun  always  when  she 
spoke  of  him  that  differentiated  its  significance — 
"'e  'asn't  seen  Mr.  Crashaw  again,  sir." 


HIS  DEBT  TO  CHALLIS  135 

Challis  turned  to  the  boy.  "You  are  not  inter 
ested  in  Mr.  Crashaw,  I  suppose?"  he  asked. 

The  boy  took  no  notice  of  the  question. 

Challis  was  piqued.  If  this  extraordinary  child 
really  had  an  intelligence,  surely  it  must  be  possible 
to  appeal  to  that  intelligence  in  some  way.  He 
made  another  effort,  addressing  Mrs.  Stott. 

"I  think  we  must  forgive  Mr.  Crashaw,  you  know, 
Mrs.  Stott.  As  I  understand  it,  your  boy  at  the  age 
of  four  years  and  a  half  has  defied — his  cloth,  if 
I  may  say  so."  He  paused,  and  as  he  received  no 
answer,  continued:  "But  I  hope  that  matter  may 
be  easily  arranged." 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Stott.  "It's  very 
kind  of  you.  I'm  sure,  I'm  greatly  obliged  to  you, 
sir." 

"That's  only  one  reason  of  my  visit  to  you, 
however,"  Challis  hesitated.  "I've  been  wondering 
whether  I  might  not  be  able  to  help  you  and  your  son 
in  some  other  way.  I  understand  that  he  has  un 
usual  power  of — of  intelligence." 

"Indeed  'e  'as,  sir,"  responded  Mrs.  Stott. 

"And  he  can  read,  can't  he?" 

"I've  learned  'im  what  I  could,  sir :  it  isn't  much." 

"Well,  perhaps  I  could  lend  him  a  few  books." 

Challis  made  a  significant  pause,  and  again  he 
looked  at  the  boy ;  but  as  there  was  no  response,  he 
continued :  "Tell  me  what  he  has  read." 


136  THE  WONDER 

"We've  no  books,  sir,  and  we  never  'ardly  see  a 
paper  now.  All  we  'ave  in  the  'ouse  is  a  Bible  and 
two  copies  of  Lillywhite's  cricket  annual  as  my  'us- 
band  left  be'ind." 

Challis  smiled.     "Has  he  read  those?"  he  asked. 

"The  Bible  'e  'as,  I  believe,"  replied  Mrs.  Stott. 

It  was  a  conversation  curious  in  its  impersonality. 
Challis  was  conscious  of  the  anomaly  that  he  was 
speaking  in  the  boy's  presence,  crediting  him  with 
a  remarkable  intelligence,  and  yet  addressing  a 
frankly  ignorant  woman  as  though  the  boy  was  not 
in  the  room.  Yet  how  could  he  break  that  deliberate 
silence?  It  seemed  to  him  as  though  there  must, 
after  all,  be  some  mistake;  yet  how  account  for 
Crashaw's  story  if  the  boy  were  indeed  an  idiot? 

With  a  slight  show  of  temper  he  turned  to  the 
Wonder. 

"Do  you  want  to  read?"  he  asked.  "I  have  be 
tween  forty  and  fifty  thousand  books  in  my  library. 
I  think  it  possible  that  you  might  find  one  or  two 
which  would  interest  you." 

The  Wonder  lifted  his  hand  as  though  to  ask  for 
silence.  For  a  minute,  perhaps,  no  one  spoke.  All 
waited,  expectant;  Challis  and  Lewes  with  intent 
eyes  fixed  on  the  detached  expression  of  the  child's 
face,  Ellen  Mary  with  bent  head.  It  was  a  strange, 
yet  very  logical  question  that  came  at  last: 

"What  should  I  learn  out  of  all  them  books?** 


HIS  DEBT  TO  CHALLIS  137 

asked  the  Wonder.    He  did  not  look  at  Challis  as  he 
spoke. 

IV 

Challis  drew  a  deep  breath  and  turned  towards 
Lewes.  "A  difficult  question,  that,  Lewes,"  he  said. 

Lewes  lifted  his  eyebrows  and  pulled  at  his  fair 
moustache.  "If  you  take  the  question  literally," 
he  muttered. 

"You  might  learn — the  essential  part  ...  of  all 
the  knowledge  that  has  been  .  .  .  discovered  by 
mankind,"  said  Challis.  He  phrased  his  sentence 
carefully,  as  though  he  were  afraid  of  being  trapped. 

"Should  I  learn  what  I  am?"  asked  the  Wonder. 

Challis  understood  the  question  in  its  metaphysi 
cal  acceptation.  He  had  the  sense  of  a  powerful 
but  undirected  intelligence  working  from  the  simple 
premisses  of  experience;  of  a  cloistered  mind  that 
had  functioned  profoundly;  a  mind  unbound  by  the 
tradition  of  all  the  speculations  and  discoveries  of 
man,  the  essential  conclusions  of  which  were  con 
tained  in  that  library  at  Challis  Court. 

"No!"  said  Challis,  after  a  perceptible  interval, 
"that  you  will  not  learn  from  any  books  in  my 
possession,  but  you  will  find  grounds  for  specula 
tion." 

"Grounds  for  speculation?"  questioned  the 
Wonder.  He  repeated  the  words  quite  clearly. 


138  THE  WONDER 

"Material — matter  from  which  you  can — er — 
formulate  theories  of  your  own,"  explained  Challis. 

The  Wonder  shook  his  head.  It  was  evident  that 
Challis's  sentence  conveyed  little  or  no  meaning  to 
him. 

He  got  down  from  his  chair  and  took  up  an  old 
cricket  cap  of  his  father's,  a  cap  which  his  mother 
had  let  out  by  the  addition  of  another  gore  of  cloth 
that  did  not  match  the  original  material.  He 
pulled  this  cap  carefully  over  his  bald  head,  and  then 
made  for  the  door. 

At  the  threshold  the  strange  child  paused,  and 
without  looking  at  any  one  present  said :  "I'll  coom 
to  your  library,"  and  went  out. 

Challis  joined  Lewes  at  the  window,  and  they 
watched  the  boy  make  his  deliberate  way  along  the 
garden  path  and  up  the  lane  towards  the  fields  be 
yond. 

"You  let  him  go  out  by  himself?"  asked  Challis. 

"He  likes  to  be  in  the  air,  sir,"  replied  Ellen 
Mary. 

"I  suppose  you  have  to  let  him  go  his  own  way?" 

"Oh!  yes,  sir." 

"I  will  send  the  governess  cart  up  for  him  to 
morrow  morning,"  said  Challis,  "at  ten  o'clock. 
That  is,  of  course,  if  you  have  no  objection  to  his 
coming." 

"  'E  said  Vd  coom,  sir,"  replied  Ellen  Mary.  Her 


HIS  DEBT  TO  CHALLIS  139 

tone    implied    that    there    was    no    appeal  possible 
against  her  son's  statement  of  his  wishes. 


"His  methods  do  not  lack  terseness,"  remarked 
Lewes,  when  he  and  Challis  were  out  of  earshot  of 
the  cottage. 

"His  methods  and  manners  are  damnable,"  said 
Challis,  "but " 

"You  were  going  to  say?"  prompted  Lewes. 

"Well,  what  is  your  opinion?" 

"I  am  not  convinced,  as  yet,"  said  Lewes. 

"Oh,  surely,"  expostulated  Challis. 

"Not  from  objective,  personal  evidence.  Let  us 
put  Crashaw  out  of  our  minds  for  the  moment." 

"Very  well;  go  on,  state  your  case." 

"He  has,  so  far,  made  four  remarks  in  our  pres 
ence,"  said  Lewes,  gesticulating  with  his  walking 
stick.  "Two  of  them  can  be  neglected;  his  repeti 
tion  of  your  words,  which  he  did  not  understand,  and 
his  condescending  promise  to  study  your  library." 

"Yes;  I'm  with  you,  so  far." 

"Now,  putting  aside  the  preconception  with  which 
we  entered  the  cottage,  was  there  really  anything 
in  the  other  two  remarks?  Were  they  not  the  type 
of  simple,  unreasoning  questions  which  one  may 
often  hear  from  the  mouth  of  a  child  of  that  age? 


140  THE  WONDER 

'What  shall  I  learn  from  your  books?'  Well,  it  is 
the  natural  question  of  the  ignorant  child,  who  has 
no  conception  of  the  contents  of  books,  no  experi 
ence  which  would  furnish  material  for  his  imagina 
tion." 

"Well?" 

"The  second  remark  is  more  explicable  still.  It 
is  a  remark  we  all  make  in  childhood,  in  some  form 
or  another.  I  remember  quite  well  at  the  age  of 
six  or  seven  asking  my  mother:  'Which  is  me,  my 
soul  or  my  body?'  I  was  brought  up  on  the  Church 
catechism.  But  you  at  once  accepted  these  ques 
tions — which,  I  maintain,  were  questions  possible  in 
the  mouth  of  a  simple,  ignorant  child — in  some  deep, 
metaphysical  acceptation.  Don't  you  think,  sir,  we 
should  wait  for  further  evidence  before  we  attribute 
any  phenomenal  intelligence  to  this  child?" 

"Quite  the  right  attitude  to  take,  Lewes — the  sci 
entific  attitude,"  replied  Challis.  "Let's  go  by  the 
lane,"  he  added,  as  they  reached  the  entrance  to 
the  wood. 

For  some  few  minutes  they  walked  in  silence; 
Challis  with  his  head  down,  his  heavy  shoulders 
humped.  His  hands  were  clasped  behind  him,  drag 
ging  his  stick  as  it  were  a  tail,  which  he  occasionally 
cocked.  He  walked  with  a  little  stumble  now  and 
again,  his  eyes  on  the  ground.  Lewes  strode  with  a 
sure  foot,  his  head  up,  and  he  slashed  at  the  tangle  of 


HIS  DEBT  TO  CHALLIS  141 

last  year's  growth  on  the  bank  whenever  he  passed 
some  tempting  butt  for  the  sword-play  of  his  stick. 

"Do  you  think,  then,"  said  Chain's  at  last,  "that 
much  of  the  atmosphere — you  must  have  marked  the 
atmosphere — of  the  child's  personality,  was  a  crea 
tion  of  our  own  minds,  due  to  our  preconceptions?" 

"Yes,  I  think  so,"  Lewes  replied,  a  touch  of  de 
fiance  in  his  tone. 

"Isn't  that  what  you  -want  to  believe  ?"  asked  Chal- 
lis. 

Lewes  hit  at  a  flag  of  dead  bracken  and  missed. 
"You  mean  .  .  .  ?"  he  prevaricated. 

"I  mean  that  that  is  a  much  stronger  influence 
than  any  preconception,  my  dear  Lewes.  I'm  no 
pragmatist,  as  you  know ;  but  there  can  be  no  doubt 
that  with  the  majority  of  us  the  wish  to  believe  a 
thing  is  true  constitutes  the  truth  of  that  thing  for 
us.  And  that  is,  in  my  opinion,  the  wrong  attitude 
for  either  scientist  or  philosopher.  Now,  in  the  case 
we  are  discussing,  I  suppose  at  bottom  I  should  like 
to  agree  with  you.  One  does  not  like  to  feel  that  a 
child  of  four  and  a  half  has  greater  intellectual 
powers  than  oneself.  Candidly,  I  do  not  like  it  at 
all." 

"Of  course  not !    But  I  can't  think  that " 

"You  can  if  you  try;  you  would  at  once  if  you 
wished  to,"  returned  Challis,  anticipating  the  com 
pletion  of  Lewes's  sentence. 


THE  WONDER 

"I'll  admit  that  there  are  some  remarkable  facts 
in  the  case  of  this  child,"  said  Lewes,  "but  I  do  not 
see  why  we  should,  as  yet,  take  the  whole  proposition 
for  granted." 

"No!  I  am  with  you  there,"  returned  Challis. 
And  no  more  was  said  until  they  were  nearly  home. 

Just  before  they  turned  into  the  drive,  however, 
Challis  stopped.  "Do  you  know,  Lewes,"  he  said, 
"I  am  not  sure  that  I  am  doing  a  wise  thing  in  bring 
ing  that  child  here!" 

Lewes  did  not  understand.  "No,  sir?  Why  not?" 
he  asked. 

"Why,  think  of  the  possibilities  of  that  child,  if 
he  has  all  the  powers  I  credit  him  with,"  said  Challis. 
"Think  of  his  possibilities  for  original  thought  if  he 
is  kept  away  from  all  the  traditions  of  this  futile 
learning."  He  waved  an  arm  in  the  direction  of 
the  elongated  chapel. 

"Oh !  but  surely,"  remonstrated  Lewes,  "that  is 
a  necessary  groundwork.  Knowledge  is  built  up 
step  by  step." 

"Is  it?  I  wonder.  I  sometimes  doubt,"  said 
Challis.  "Yes,  I  sometimes  doubt  whether  we  have 
ever  learned  anything  at  all  that  is  worth  knowing. 
And,  perhaps,  this  child,  if  he  were  kept  away  from 
books.  .  .  .  However,  the  thing  is  done  now,  and 
in  any  case  he  would  never  have  been  able  to  dodge 
the  School  attendance  officer." 


CHAPTER    VIII 

HIS   FIRST   VISIT   TO    CHAI/LIS   COURT 


"SHALL  you  be  able  to  help  me  in  collating  your 
notes  of  the  Tikopia  observations  to-day,  sir?" 
Lewes  asked  next  morning.  He  rose  from  the  break 
fast-table  and  lit  a  cigarette.  There  was  no  cere 
mony  between  Challis  and  his  secretary. 

"You  forget  our  engagement  for  ten  o'clock," 
said  Challis. 

"Need  that  distract  us?" 

"It  need  not,  but  doesn't  it  seem  to  you  that  it 
may  furnish  us  with  valuable  material?" 

"Hardly  pertinent,  sir,  is  it?" 

"What  line  do  you  think  of  taking  up,  Lewes?" 
asked  Challis  with  apparent  irrelevance. 

"With  regard  to  this — this  phenomenon?" 

"No,  no.  I  was  speaking  of  your  own  ambitions." 
Challis  had  sauntered  over  to  the  window ;  he  stood, 
with  his  back  to  Lewes,  looking  out  at  the  blue  and 
white  of  the  April  sky. 

Lewes  frowned.     He  did  not  understand  the  gist 


144  THE  WONDER 

of  the  question.  "I  suppose  there  is  a  year's  work 
on  this  book  before  me  yet,"  he  said. 

"Quite,  quite,"  replied  Challis,  watching  a  cloud 
shadow  swarm  up  the  slope  of  Deane  Hill.  "Yes, 
certainly  a  year's  work.  I  was  thinking  of  the  fu 
ture/' 

"I  have  thought  of  laboratory  work  in  connection 
with  psychology,"  said  Lewes,  still  puzzled. 

"I  thought  I  remembered  your  saying  something 
of  the  kind,"  murmured  Challis  absently.  "We  are 
going  to  have  more  rain.  It  will  be  a  late  spring  this 
year." 

"Had  the  question  any  bearing  on  our  engage 
ment  of  this  morning?"  Lewes  was  a  little  anxious, 
uncertain  whether  this  inquiry  as  to  his  future  had 
not  some  particular  significance;  a  hint,  perhaps, 
that  his  services  would  not  be  required  much  longer. 

"Yes;  I  think  it  had,"  said  Challis.  "I  saw  the 
governess  cart  go  up  the  road  a  few  minutes  since." 

"I  suppose  the  boy  will  be  here  in  a  quarter  of 
an  hour?"  said  Lewes  by  way  of  keeping  up  the 
conversation.  He  was  puzzled;  he  did  not  know 
Challis  in  this  mood.  He  did  not  conceive  it  possible 
that  Challis  could  be  nervous  about  the  arrival  of  so 
insignificant  a  person  as  this  Stott  child. 

"It's  all  very  ridiculous,"  broke  out  Challis  sud 
denly;  and  he  turned  away  from  the  window,  and 
joined  Lewes  by  the  fire.  "Don't  you  think  so?" 


HIS  FIRST  VISIT  TO  CHALLIS  COURT     145 

"I'm  afraid  I  don't  follow  you,  sir." 

Challis  laughed.  "I'm  not  surprised,"  he  said; 
"I  was  a  trifle  inconsecutive.  But  I  wish  you  were 
more  interested  in  this  child,  Lewes.  The  thought 
of  him  engrosses  me,  and  yet  I  don't  want  to  meet 
him.  I  should  be  relieved  to  hear  that  he  wasn't 
coming.  Surely  you,  as  a  student  of  psychology 
..."  he  broke  off  with  a  lift  of  his  heavy  shoulders. 

"Oh !  Yes !  I  am  interested,  certainly,  as  you 
say,  as  a  student  of  psychology.  We  ought  to  take 
some  measurements.  The  configuration  of  the  skull 
is  not  abnormal  otherwise  than  in  its  relation  to  the 
development  of  the  rest  of  his  body,  but  .  .  .  ' 
Lewes  meandered  off  into  somewhat  abstruse  specu 
lation  with  regard  to  the  significance  of  craniology. 

Challis  nodded  his  head  and  murmured:  "Quite, 
quite,"  occasionally.  He  seemed  glad  that  Lewes 
should  continue  to  talk. 

The  lecture  was  interrupted  by  the  appearance  of 
the  governess  cart. 

"By  Jove,  he  has  come,"  ejaculated  Challis  in 
the  middle  of  one  of  Lewes's  periods.  "You'll  have 
to  see  me  through  this,  my  boy.  I'm  damned  if  I 
know  how  to  take  the  child." 

Lewes  flushed,  annoyed  at  the  interruption  of  his 
lecture.  He  had  believed  that  he  had  been  inter 
esting.  "Curse  the  kid,"  was  the  thought  in  his 
mind  as  he  followed  Challis  to  the  window. 


146    .  THE  WONDER 

n 

Jessop,  the  groom  deputed  to  fetch  the  Wonder 
from  Pym,  looked  a  little  uneasy,  perhaps  a  little 
scared.  When  he  drew  up  at  the  porch,  the  child 
pointed  to  the  door  of  the  cart  and  indicated  that 
it  was  to  be  opened  for  him.  He  was  evidently  used 
to  being  waited  upon.  When  this  command  had 
been  obeyed,  he  descended  deliberately  and  then 
pointed  to  the  front  door. 

"Open !"  he  said  clearly,  as  Jessop  hesitated.  The 
Wonder  knew  nothing  of  bells  or  ceremony. 

Jessop  came  down  from  the  cart  and  rang. 

The  butler  opened  the  door.  He  was  an  old 
servant  and  accustomed  to  his  master's  eccentrici 
ties,  but  he  was  not  prepared  for  the  vision  of  that 
strange  little  figure,  with  a  large  head  in  a  parti 
coloured  cricket-cap,  an  apparition  that  immediately 
walked  straight  by  him  into  the  hall,  and  pointed 
to  the  first  door  he  came  to. 

"Oh,  dear!  Well,  to  be  sure,"  gasped  Heathcote. 
"Why,  whatever " 

"Open!"  commanded  the  Wonder,  and  Heath- 
cote  obeyed,  weak-kneed. 

The  door  chanced  to  be  the  right  one,  the  door  of 
the  breakfast-room,  and  the  Wonder  walked  in,  still 
wearing  his  cap. 

Challis  came  forward  to  meet  him  with  a  con- 


HIS  FIRST  VISIT  TO  CHALLIS  COURT     147 

ventional  greeting.  "I'm  glad  you  were  able  to 
come  .  .  .  "  he  began,  but  the  child  took  no  notice ; 
he  looked  rapidly  round  the  room,  and  not  finding 
what  he  wanted,  signified  his  desire  by  a  single 
word. 

"Books,"  he  said,  and  looked  at  Challis. 

Heathcote  stood  at  the  door,  hesitating  between 
amazement  and  disapproval.  "I've  never  seen  the 
like,"  was  how  he  phrased  his  astonishment  later, 
in  the  servants'  hall,  "never  in  all  my  born  days.  To 
see  that  melon-'eaded  himp  in  a  cricket-cap  horder- 
ing  the  master  about.  Well,  there " 

"Jessop  says  he  fair  got  the  creeps  drivin'  'im 
over,"  said  the  cook.  "  'E  says  the  child's  not  right 
in  'is  'ead." 

Much  embroidery  followed  in  the  servants'  hall. 


INTERLUDE 

THIS  brief  history  of  the  Hampdenshire  Wonder 
is  marked  by  a  stereotyped  division  into  three  parts, 
an  arbitrary  arrangement  dependent  on  the  experi 
ence  of  the  writer.  The  true  division  becomes  mani 
fest  at  this  point.  The  life  of  Victor  Stott  was 
cut  into  two  distinct  sections,  between  which  there 
is  no  correlation.  The  first  part  should  tell  the  story 
of  his  mind  during  the  life  of  experience,  the  time 
occupied  in  observation  of  the  phenomena  of  life 
presented  to  him  in  fact,  without  any  specific  teach 
ing  on  the  theories  of  existence  and  progress,  or  on 
the  speculation  as  to  ultimate  destiny.  The  second 
part  should  deal  with  his  entry  into  the  world  of 
books ;  into  that  account  of  a  long  series  of  collated 
experiments  and  partly  verified  hypotheses  we  call 
science;  into  the  imperfectly  developed  system  of 
inductive  and  deductive  logic  which  determines  math 
ematics  and  philosophy;  into  the  long,  inaccurate 
and  largely  unverifiable  account  of  human  blindness 
and  error  known  as  history;  and  into  the  realm  of 
idealism,  symbol,  and  pitiful  pride  we  find  in  the 
story  of  poetry,  letters,  and  religion. 

149 


150  THE  WONDER 

I  will  confess  that  I  once  contemplated  the  writing 
of  such  a  history.  It  was  Challis  who,  in  his  courtly, 
gentle  way,  pointed  out  to  me  that  no  man  living 
had  the  intellectual  capacity  to  undertake  so  pro 
found  a  work. 

For  some  three  months  before  I  had  this  conversa 
tion  with  Challis,  I  had  been  wrapped  in  solitude, 
dreaming,  speculating.  I  had  been  uplifted  in 
thought,  I  had  come  to  believe  myself  inspired  as 
a  result  of  my  separation  from  the  world  of  men, 
and  of  the  deep  introspection  and  meditation  in 
which  I  had  been  plunged.  I  had  arrived  at  a  point, 
perhaps  not  far  removed  from  madness,  at  which  I 
thought  myself  capable  of  setting  out  the  true  his 
tory  of  Victor  Stott. 

Challis  broke  the  spell.  He  cleared  away  the 
false  glamour  which  was  blinding  and  intoxicating 
me  and  brought  me  back  to  a  condition  of  open-eyed 
sanity.  To  Challis  I  owe  a  great  debt. 

Yet  at  the  moment  I  was  sunk  in  depression.  All 
the  glory  of  my  vision  had  faded;  the  afterglow 
was  quenched  in  the  blackness  of  a  night  that  drew 
out  of  the  east  and  fell  from  the  zenith  as  a  curtain 
of  utter  darkness. 

Again  Challis  came  to  my  rescue.  He  brought  me 
a  great  sheaf  of  notes. 

<4Look  here,"  he  said,  "if  you  can't  write  a  true 
history  of  that  strange  child,  I  see  no  reason  why 


INTERLUDE  151 

you  should  not  write  his  story  as  it  is  known  to  you, 
as  it  impinges  on  your  own  life.  After  all,  you,  in 
many  ways,  know  more  of  him  than  any  one.  You 
came  nearest  to  receiving  his  confidence." 

"But  only  during  the  last  few  months,"  I  said. 

"Does  that  matter?"  said  Challis  with  an  up 
heaval  of  his  shoulders — "shrug"  is  far  too  insig 
nificant  a  word  for  that  mountainous  humping.  "Is 
any  biography  founded  on  better  material  than  you 
have  at  command?" 

He  unfolded  his  bundle  of  notes.  "See  here,"  he 
said,  "here  is  some  magnificent  material  for  you — 
first-hand  observations  made  at  the  time.  Can't 
you  construct  a  story  from  that?" 

Even  then  I  began  to  cast  my  story  in  a  slightly 
biographical  form.  I  wrote  half  a  dozen  chapters, 
and  read  them  to  Challis. 

"Magnificent,  my  dear  fellow,"  was  his  comment, 
"magnificent;  but  no  one  will  believe  it." 

I  had  been  carried  away  by  my  own  prose,  and 
with  the  natural  vanity  of  the  author,  I  resented 
intensely  his  criticism. 

For  some  weeks  I  did  not  see  Challis  again,  and  I 
persisted  in  my  futile  endeavour,  but  always  as  I 
wrote  that  killing  suggestion  insinuated  itself:  "No 
one  will  believe  you."  At  times  I  felt  as  a  man 
may  feel  who  has  spent  many  years  in  a  lunatic 
asylum ;  and  after  his  release  is  for  ever  engaged 


152  THE  WONDER 

in  a  struggle  to  allay  the  doubts  of  a  leering 
suspicion. 

I  gave  up  the  hopeless  task  at  last,  and  sought 
out  Challis  again. 

"Write  it  as  a  story,"  he  suggested,  "and  give 
up  the  attempt  to  carry  conviction." 

And  in  that  spirit,  adopting  the  form  of  a  story, 
I  did  begin,  and  in  that  form  I  hope  to  finish. 

But  here  as  I  reach  the  great  division,  the  de 
termining  factor  of  Victor  Stott's  life,  I  am  con 
strained  to  pause  and  apologise.  I  have  become 
uncomfortably  conscious  of  my  own  limitations,  and 
the  feeble,  ephemeral  methods  I  am  using.  I  am 
trifling  with  a  wonderful  story,  embroidering  my 
facts  with  the  tawdry  detail  of  my  own  imagining. 

I  saw — I  see — no  other  way. 

This  is,  indeed,  a  preface,  yet  I  prefer  to  put  it  in 
this  place,  since  it  was  at  this  time  I  wrote  it. 

On  the  Common  a  faint  green  is  coming  again 
like  a  mist  among  the  ash-trees,  while  the  oak  is  still 
dead  and  bare.  Last  year  the  oak  came  first. 

They  say  we  shall  have  a  wet  summer. 


PART  TWO  (Continued) 

THE    WONDER   AMONG 
BOOKS 


PART    TWO    (Continued) 

THE  WONDER  AMONG  BOOKS 

CHAPTER  IX 

HIS    PASSAGE    THROUGH    THE    PRISON   OF 
KNOWLEDGE 


CHALLIS  led  the  way  to  the  library ;  Lewes,  petulant 
and  mutinous,  hung  in  the  rear. 

The  Wonder  toddled  forward,  unabashed,  to  enter 
his  new  world.  On  the  threshold,  however,  he 
paused.  His  comprehensive  stare  took  in  a  sweep 
ing  picture  of  enclosing  walls  of  books,  and  beyond 
was  a  vista  of  further  rooms,  of  more  walls  all  lined 
from  floor  to  ceiling  with  records  of  human  discov 
ery,  endeavour,  doubt,  and  hope. 

The  Wonder  stayed  and  stared.  Then  he  took 
two  faltering  steps  into  the  room  and  stopped  again, 
and,  finally,  he  looked  up  at  Challis  with  doubt  and 
question;  his  gaze  no  longer  quelling  and  authorita 
tive,  but  hesitating,  compliant,  perhaps  a  little  child 
like. 

155 


156  THE  WONDER 

"  'A\e  you  read  all  these?"  he  asked. 

It  was  a  curious  picture.  The  tall  figure  of 
Challis,  stooping,  as  always,  slightly  forward; 
Challis,  with  his  seaman's  eyes  and  scholar's  head, 
his  hands  loosely  clasped  together  behind  his  back, 
paying  such  scrupulous  attention  to  that  grotesque 
representative  of  a  higher  intellectuality,  clothed  in 
the  dress  of  a  villager,  a  patched  cricket-cap  drawn 
down  over  his  globular  skull,  his  little  arms  hanging 
loosely  at  his  sides ;  who,  nevertheless,  even  in  this 
new,  strange  aspect  of  unwonted  humility  bore  on 
his  face  the  promise  of  some  ultimate  development 
which  differentiated  him  from  all  other  humanity, 
as  the  face' of  humanity  is  differentiated  from  the 
face  of  its  prognathous  ancestor. 

The  scene  is  set  in  a  world  of  books,  and  in  the 
background  lingers  the  athletic  figure  and  fair  head, 
of  Lewes,  the  young  Cambridge  undergraduate,  the 
disciple  of  science,  hardly  yet  across  the  threshold 
which  divides  him  from  the  knowledge  of  his  own 
ignorance. 

"  'Ave  you  read  all  these  ?"  asked  the  Wonder. 

"A  greater  part  of  them — in  effect,"  replied 
Challis.  "There  is  much  repetition,  you  under 
stand,  and  much  record  of  experiment  which  be 
comes,  in  a  sense,  worthless  when  the  conclusions 
are  either  finally  accepted  or  rejected." 

The  eyes  of  the  Wonder  shifted  and  their  expres- 


THE  PRISON  OF  KNOWLEDGE       157 

sion  became  abstracted;  he  seemed  to  lose  con 
sciousness  of  the  outer  world;  he  wore  the  look 
which  you  may  see  in  the  eyes  of  Jakob  Schlesinger's 
portrait  of  the  mature  Hegel,  a  look  of  profound 
introspection  and  analysis. 

There  was  an  interval  of  silence,  and  then  the 
Wonder  unknowingly  gave  expression  to  a  quotation 
from  Hamlet.  "Words,"  he  whispered  reflectively, 
and  then  again  "words." 


n 

Challis  understood  him.  "You  have  not  yet 
learned  the  meaning  of  words?"  he  asked. 

The  brief  period — the  only  one  recorded — of 
amazement  and  submission  was  over.  It  may  be 
that  he  had  doubted  during  those  few  minutes  of 
time  whether  he  was  well  advised  to  enter  into  that 
world  of  books,  whether  he  would  not  by  so  doing 
stunt  his  own  mental  growth.  It  may  be  that  the 
decision  of  so  momentous  a  question  should  have 
been  postponed  for  a  year — two  years ;  to  a  time 
when  his  mind  should  have  had  further  possibilities 
for  unlettered  expansion.  However  that  may  be, 
he  decided  now  and  finally.  He  walked  to  the  table 
and  climbed  up  on  a  chair. 

"Books  about  words,"  he  commanded,  and 
pointed  at  Challis  and  Lewes. 


158  THE  WONDER 

They  brought  him  the  latest  production  of  the 
twentieth  century  in  many  volumes,  the  work  of  a 
dozen  eminent  authorities  on  the  etymology  of  the 
English  language,  and  they  seated  him  on  eight 
volumes  of  the  Encyclopaedia  Britannica  (India  pa 
per  edition)  in  order  that  he  might  reach  the  level 
of  the  table. 

At  first  they  tried  to  show  him  how  his  wonderful 
dictionary  should  be  used,  but  he  pushed  them  on 
one  side,  neither  then  nor  at  any  future  time  would 
he  consent  to  be  taught — the  process  was  too  tedious 
for  him,  his  mind  worked  more  fluently,  rapidly,  and 
comprehensively  than  the  mind  of  the  most  gifted 
teacher  that  could  have  been  found  for  him. 

So  Chain's  and  Lewes  stood  on  one  side  and 
watched  him,  and  he  was  no  more  embarrassed  by 
their  presence  than  if  they  had  been  in  another  world, 
as,  possibly,  they  were. 

He  began  with  volume  one,  and  he  read  the  title 
page  and  the  introduction,  the  list  of  abbreviations, 
and  all  the  preliminary  matter  in  due  order. 

Challis  noted  that  when  the  Wonder  began  to 
read,  he  read  no  faster  than  the  average  educated 
man,  but  that  he  acquired  facility  at  a  most  astound 
ing  rate,  and  that  when  he  had  been  reading  for  a 
few  days  his  eye  swept  down  the  column,  as  it  were 
at  a  single  glance. 

Challis  and  Lewes  watched  him  for,  perhaps,  half 


THE  PRISON  OF  KNOWLEDGE        159 

an  hour,  and  then,  seeing  that  their  presence  was 
of  an  entirely  negligible  value  to  the  Wonder,  they 
left  him  and  went  into  the  farther  room. 

"Well?"  asked  Challis,  "what  do  you  make  of 
him?" 

"Is  he  reading  or  pretending  to  read?"  parried 
Lewes.  "Do  you  think  it  possible  that  he  could 
read  so  fast?  Moreover,  remember  that  he  has  ad 
mitted  that  he  knows  few  words  of  the  English  lan 
guage,  yet  he  does  not  refer  from  volume  to  volume; 
he  does  not  look  up  the  meanings  of  the  many  un 
known  words  which  must  occur  even  in  the  introduc 
tion." 

"I  know.     I  had  noticed  that." 

''Then  you  think  he  is  humbugging — pretending 
to  read?" 

"No;  that  solution  seems  to  me  altogether  un 
likely.  He  could  not,  for  one  thing,  simulate  that 
look  of  attention.  Remember,  Lewes,  the  child  is 
not  yet  five  years  old." 

"What  is  your  explanation,  then?" 

"I  am  wondering  whether  the  child  has  not  a  mem 
ory  beside  which  the  memory  of  a  Macaulay  would 
appear  insignificant." 

Lewes  did  not  grasp  Challis's  intention.  "Even 
so  .  .  ."  he  began. 

"And,"  continued  Challis,  "I  am  wondering 
whether,  if  that  is  the  case,  he  is,  in  effect,  prepared 


160  THE  WONDER 

to  learn  the  whole  dictionary  by  heart,  and,  so  to 
speak,  collate  its  contents  later,  in  his  mind." 

"Oh!  Sir!"  Lewes  smiled.  The  supposition  was 
too  outrageous  to  be  taken  seriously.  "Surely,  you 
can't  mean  that."  There  was  something  in  Lewes's 
tone  which  carried  a  hint  of  contempt  for  so  far 
fetched  a  hypothesis. 

Challis  was  pacing  up  and  down  the  library,  his 
hands  clasped  behind  him.  "Yes,  I  mean  it,"  he 
said,  without  looking  up.  "I  put  it  forward  as  a 
serious  theory,  worthy  of  full  consideration." 

Lewes  sneered.    "Oh,  surely  not,  sir,"  he  said. 

Challis  stopped  and  faced  him.  "Why  not, 
Lewes;  why  not?"  he  asked,  with  a  kindly  smile. 
"Think  of  the  gap  which  separates  your  intellectual 
powers  from  those  of  a  Polynesian  savage.  Why, 
after  all,  should  it  be  impossible  that  this  child's 
powers  should  equally  transcend  our  own?  A 
freak,  if  you  will,  an  abnormality,  a  curious  effect  of 
nature's,  like  the  giant  puff-ball — but  still " 

"Oh!  yes,  sir,  I  grant  you  the  thing  is  not  im 
possible  from  a  theoretical  point  of  view,"  argued 
Lewes,  "but  I  think  you  are  theorising  on  altogether 
insufficient  evidence.  I  am  willing  to  admit  that 
such  a  freak  is  theoretically  possible,  but  I  have  not 
yet  found  the  indications  of  such  a  power  in  the 
child." 

Challis   resumed  his  pacing.     "Quite,  quite,"  he 


THE  PRISON  OF  KNOWLEDGE        161 

assented;  "your  method  is  perfectly  correct — per 
fectly  correct.  We  must  wait." 

At  twelve  o'clock  Challis  brought  a  glass  of  milk 
and  some  biscuits,  and  set  them  beside  the  Wonder 
— he  was  apparently  making  excellent  progress  with 
the  letter  "A." 

"Well,  how  are  you  getting  on?"  asked  Challis. 

The  Wonder  took  not  the  least  notice  of  the 
question,  but  he  stretched  out  a  little  hand  and  took 
a  biscuit  and  ate  it,  without  looking  up  from  his 
reading. 

"I  wish  he'd  answer  questions,"  Challis  remarked 
to  Lewes,  later. 

"I  should  prescribe  a  sound  shaking,"  returned 
Lewes. 

Challis  smiled.  "Well,  see  here,  Lewes,"  he  said, 
"I'll  take  the  responsibility ;  you  go  and  experiment ; 
go  and  shake  him." 

Lewes  looked  through  the  folding  doors  at  the 
picture  of  the  Wonder,  intent  on  his  study  of  the 
great  dictionary.  "Since  you've  franked  me,"  he 
said,  "I'll  do  it — but  not  now.  I'll  wait  till  he  gives 
me  some  occasion." 

"Good,"  replied  Challis,  "my  offer  holds  .  .  . 
and,  by  the  way,  I  have  no  doubt  that  an  occasion 
will  present  itself.  Doesn't  it  strike  you  as  likely, 
Lewes,  that  we  shall  see  a  good  deal  of  the  child 
here?" 


162  THE  WONDER 

They  stood  for  some  minutes,  watching  the  pic 
ture  of  that  intent  student,  framed  in  the  written 
thoughts  of  his  predecessors. 


in 

The  Wonder  ignored  an  invitation  to  lunch;  he 
ignored,  also,  the  tray  that  was  sent  in  to  him.  He 
read  on  steadily  till  a  quarter  to  six,  by  which  time 
he  was  at  the  end  of  "B,"  and  then  he  climbed  down 
from  his  Encyclopaedia,  and  made  for  the  door. 
Challis,  working  in  the  farther  room,  saw  him  and 
came  out  to  open  the  door. 

"Are  you  going  now?"  he  asked. 

The  child  nodded. 

"I  will  order  the  cart  for  you,  if  you  will  wait  ten 
minutes,"  said  Challis. 

The  child  shook  his  head.  "It's  very  necessary 
to  have  air,"  he  said. 

Something  in  the  tone  and  pronunciation  struck 
Challis,  and  awoke  a  long  dormant  memory.  The 
sentence  spoken,  suddenly  conjured  up  a  vision  of 
the  Stotts'  cottage  at  Stoke,  of  the  Stotts  at  tea,  of 
a  cradle  in  the  shadow,  and  of  himself,  sitting  in 
an  uncomfortable  armchair  and  swinging  his  stick 
between  his  knees.  When  the  child  had  gone — 
walking  deliberately,  and  evidently  regarding  the 
mile-and-a-half  walk  through  the  twilight  wood  and 


THE  PRISON  OF  KNOWLEDGE        163 

over  the  deserted  Common  as  a  trivial  incident  in 
the  day's  business — Challis  set  himself  to  analyse 
that  curious  association. 

As  he  strolled  back  across  the  hall  to  the  library, 
he  tried  to  reconstruct  the  scene  of  the  cottage  at 
Stoke,  and  to  recall  the  outline  of  the  conversation 
he  had  had  with  the  Stotts. 

"Lewes !"  he  said,  when  he  reached  the  room  in 
which  his  secretary  was  working.  "Lewes,  this  is 
curious,"  and  he  described  the  associations  called  up 
by  the  child's  speech.  "The  curious  thing  is,"  he 
continued,  "that  I  had  gone  to  advise  Mrs.  Stott  to 
take  a  cottage  at  Pym,  because  the  Stoke  villagers 
were  hostile,  in  some  way,  and  she  did  not  care  to 
take  the  child  out  in  the  street.  It  is  more  than 
probable  that  I  used  just  those  words,  'It  is  very 
necessary  to  have  air,'  very  probable.  Now,  what 
about  my  memory  theory?  The  child  was  only  six 
months  old  at  that  time." 

Lewes  appeared  unconvinced.  "There  is  nothing 
very  unusual  in  the  sentence,"  he  said. 

"Forgive  me,"  replied  Challis,  "I  don't  agree  with 
you.  It  is  not  phrased  as  a  villager  would  phrase  it, 
and,  as  I  tell  you,  it  was  not  spoken  with  the  local 
accent." 

"You  may  have  spoken  the  sentence  to-day,"  sug 
gested  Lewes. 

"I  may,  of  course,  though  I  don't  remember  saying 


164  THE  WONDER 

anything  of  the  sort,  but  that  would  not  account  for 
the  curiously  vivid  association  which  was  conjured 
up." 

Lewes  pursed  his  lips.  "No,  no,  no,"  he  said. 
"But  that  is  hardly  ground  for  argument,  is  it?" 

"I  suppose  not,"  returned  Challis  thoughtfully; 
"but  when  you  take  up  psychology,  Lewes,  I  should 
much  like  you  to  specialise  on  a  careful  inquiry  into 
association  in  connection  with  memory.  I  feel 
certain  that  if  one  can  reproduce,  as  nearly  as  may 
be,  any  complex  sensation  one  has  experienced,  no 
matter  how  long  ago,  one  will  stimulate  what  I  may 
call  an  abnormal  memory  of  all  the  associations 
connected  with  that  experience.  Just  now  I  saw  the 
interior  of  that  room  in  the  Stotts'  cottage  so  clearly 
that  I  had  an  image  of  a  dreadful  oleograph  of  Dis 
raeli  hanging  on  the  wall.  But,  now,  I  cannot  for 
the  life  of  me  remember  whether  there  was  such  an 
oleograph  or  not.  I  do  not  remember  noticing  it 
at  the  time." 

"Yes,  that's  very  interesting,"  replied  Lewes. 
"There  is  certainly  a  wide  field  for  research  in  that 
direction." 

"You  might  throw  much  light  on  our  mental 
processes,"  replied  Challis. 

(It  was  as  the  outcome  of  this  conversation  that 
Gregory  Lewes  did,  two  years  afterwards,  take  up 
this  line  of  study.  The  only  result  up  to  the  present 


THE  PRISON  OF  KNOWLEDGE        165 

time  is  his  little  brochure  Reflexive  Associations, 
which  has  added  little  to  our  knowledge  of  the  sub 
ject.) 

IV 

Challis's  anticipation  that  he  and  Lewes  would  be 
greatly  favoured  by  the  Wonder's  company  was 
fully  realised. 

The  child  put  in  an  appearance  at  half-past  nine 
the  next  morning,  just  as  the  governess  cart  was 
starting  out  to  fetch  him.  When  he  was  admitted 
he  went  straight  to  the  library,  climbed  on  to  the 
chair,  upon  which  the  volumes  of  the  Encyclopaedia 
still  remained,  and  continued  his  reading  where  he 
had  left  off  on  the  previous  evening. 

He  read  steadily  throughout  the  day  without 
giving  utterance  to  speech  of  any  kind. 

Challis  and  Lewes  went  out  in  the  afternoon,  and 
left  the  child  deep  in  study.  They  came  in  at  six 
o'clock,  and  went  to  the  library.  The  Wonder,  how 
ever,  was  not  there. 

Challis  rang  the  bell. 

"Has  little  Stott  gone?'*  he  asked  when  Heath- 
cote  came. 

"I  'aven't  seen  'im,  sir,"  said  Heathcote. 

"Just  find  out  if  any  one  opened  the  door  for  him, 
will  you?"  said  Challis.  "He  couldn't  possibly  have 
opened  that  door  for  himself." 


166  THE  WONDER 

"No  one  'asn't  let  Master  Stott  hout,  sir,"  Heath- 
cote  reported  on  his  return. 

"Are  you  sure?" 

"Quite  sure,  sir.  I've  made  full  hinquiries,"  said 
Heathcote  with  dignity. 

"Well,  we'd  better  find  him,"  said  Challis. 

"The  window  is  open,"  suggested  Lewes. 

"He  would  hardly  .  .  ."  began  Challis,  walking 
over  to  the  low  sill  of  the  open  window,  but  he  broke 
off  in  his  sentence  and  continued,  "By  Jove,  he  did, 
though;  look  here!" 

It  was,  indeed,  quite  obvious  that  the  Wonder  had 
made  his  exit  by  the  window;  the  tiny  prints  of  his 
feet  were  clearly  marked  in  the  mould  of  the  flower 
bed  ;  he  had,  moreover,  disregarded  all  results  of 
early  spring  floriculture. 

"See  how  he  has  smashed  those  daffodils,"  said 
Lewes.  "What  an  infernally  cheeky  little  brute  he 
is!" 

"What  interests  me  is  the  logic  of  the  child," 
returned  Challis.  "I  would  venture  to  guess  that 
he  wasted  no  time  in  trying  to  attract  attention. 
The  door  was  closed,  so  he  just  got  out  of  the  win 
dow.  I  rather  admire  the  spirit;  there  is  something 
Napoleonic  about  him.  Don't  you  think  so?" 

Lewes  shrugged  his  shoulders.  Heathcote's  ex 
pression  was  quite  non-committal. 

"You'd  better  send  Jessop  up  to  Pym,  Heath- 


THE  PRISON  OF  KNOWLEDGE        167 

co^e,"  said  Challis.     "Let  him  find  out  whether  the 
child  is  safe  at  home." 

Jessop  reported  an  hour  afterwards  that  Master 
Stott  had  arrived  home  quite  safely,  and  Mrs.  Stott 
was  much  obliged. 


Altogether  the  Wonder  spent  five  days,  or  about 
forty  hours,  on  his  study  of  the  dictionary,  and  in 
the  evening  of  his  last  day's  work  he  left  again  by 
the  open  window.  Challis,  however,  had  been  keep 
ing  him  under  fairly  close  observation,  and  knew 
that  the  preliminary  task  was  finished. 

"What  can  I  give  that  child  to  read  to-day?" 
he  asked  at  breakfast  next  morning. 

"I  should  reverse  the  arrangement ;  let  him  sit  on 
the  Dictionary  and  read  the  Encyclopaedia."  Lewes 
always  approached  the  subject  of  the  Wonder  with 
a  certain  supercilious  contempt. 

"You  are  not  convinced  yet  that  he  isn't  hum 
bugging?" 

"No!    Frankly,  I'm  not." 

"Well,  well,  we  must  wait  for  more  evidence,  be 
fore  we  argue  about  it,"  said  Challis,  but  they  sat 
on  over  the  breakfast-table,  waiting  for  the  child  to 
put  in  an  appearance,  and  their  conversation  hovered 
over  the  topic  of  his  intelligence. 

"Half-past  ten?"  Challis  ejaculated  at  last,  with 


168  THE  WONDER 

surprise.  "We  are  getting  into  slack  habits, 
Lewes."  He  rose  and  rang  the  bell. 

"Apparently  the  Stott  infant  has  had  enough  of 
it,"  suggested  Lewes.  "Perhaps  he  has  exhausted 
the  interest  of  dictionary  illustrations." 

"We  shall  see,"  replied  Challis,  and  then  to  a 
deferentially  appearing  Heathcote  he  said:  "Has 
Master  Stott  come  this  morning?" 

"No,  sir.  Leastways,  no  one  'asn't  let  'im  in, 
sir." 

"It  may  be  that  he  is  mentally  collating  the  results 
of  the  past  two  days'  reading,"  said  Challis,  as  he 
and  Lewes  made  their  way  to  the  library. 

"Oh!"  was  all  Lewes's  reply,  but  it  conveyed 
much  of  impatient  contempt  for  his  employer's  atti 
tude. 

Challis  only  smiled. 

When  they  entered  the  library  they  found  the 
Wonder  hard  at  work,  and  he  had,  of  his  own  initia 
tive,  adopted  the  plan  ironically  suggested  by  Lewes, 
for  he  had  succeeded  in  transferring  the  Dictionary 
volumes  to  the  chair,  and  he  was  deep  in  volume  one, 
of  the  eleventh  edition  of  the  Encyclopaedia  Britan- 
vtica. 

The  library  was  never  cleared  up  by  any  one  ex 
cept  Challis  or  his  deputy,  but  an  early  housemaid 
had  been  sent  to  dust,  and  she  had  left  the  casement 
of  one  of  the  lower  lights  of  the  window  open-  The 


THE  PRISON  OF  KNOWLEDGE        169 

means  of  the  Wonder's  entrance  was  thus  clearly  in 
evidence. 

"It's  Napoleonic,"  murmured  Challis. 

"It's  most  infernal  cheek,"  returned  Lewes  in  a 
loud  voice,  "I  should  not  be  at  all  surprised  if  that 
promised  shaking  were  not  administered  to-day." 

The  Wonder  took  no  notice.  Challis  says  that  on 
that  morning  his  eyes  were  travelling  down  the  page 
at  about  the  rate  at  which  one  could  count  the  lines. 

"He  isn't  reading,"  said  Lewes.  "No  one  could 
read  as  fast  as  that,  and  most  certainly  not  a  child 
of  four  and  a  half." 

"If  he  would  only  answer  questions  .  .  ."  hesi 
tated  Challis. 

"Oh !  of  course  he  won't  do  that,"  said  Lewes. 
"He's  clevei  enough  not  to  give  himself  away." 

The  two  men  went  over  to  the  table  and  looked 
down  over  the  child's  shoulder.  He  was  in  the  mid 
dle  of  the  article  on  "Aberration" — a  technical 
treatise  on  optical  physics. 

Lewes  made  a  gesture.  "Now  do  you  believe  he's 
humbugging?"  he  asked  confidently,  and  made  no 
effort  to  modulate  his  voice. 

Challis  drew  his  eyebrows  together.  "My  boy," 
he  said,  and  laid  his  hand  lightly  on  Victor  Stott's 
shoulder,  "can  you  understand  what  you  are  reading 
there?" 

But  no  answer  was  vouchsafed.     Challis  sighed. 


170  THE  WONDER 

"Come  along,  Lewes,"  he  said;  "we  must  waste  no 
more  time." 

Lewes  wore  a  look  of  smug  triumph  as  they  went 
to  the  farther  room,  but  he  was  clever  enough  to 
refrain  from  expressing  his  triumph  in  speech. 


VI 

Challis  gave  directions  that  the  window  which  the 
Wonder  had  found  to  be  his  most  convenient  method 
of  entry  and  exit  should  be  kept  open,  except  at 
night;  and  a  stool  was  placed  under  the  sill  inside 
the  room,  and  a  low  bench  was  fixed  outside  to  facili 
tate  the  child's  goings  and  comings.  Also,  a  little 
path  was  made  across  the  flower-bed. 

The  Wonder  gave  no  trouble.  He  arrived  at  nine 
o'clock  every  morning,  Sunday  included,  and  left  at 
a  quarter  to  six  in  the  evening.  On  wet  days  he 
was  provided  with  a  waterproof  which  had  evidently 
been  made  by  his  mother  out  of  a  larger  garment. 
This  he  took  off  when  he  entered  the  room  and  left 
on  the  stool  under  the  window. 

He  was  given  a  glass  of  milk  and  a  plate  of  bread- 
and-butter  at  twelve  o'clock;  and  except  for  this  he 
demanded  and  received  no  attention. 

For  three  weeks  he  devoted  himself  exclusively  to 
the  study  of  the  Encyclopaedia. 

Lewes  was  puzzled. 


THE  PRISON  OF  KNOWLEDGE        171 

Challis  spoke  little  of  the  child  during  these  three 
weeks,  but  he  often  stood  at  the  entrance  to  the  far 
ther  rooms  and  watched  the  Wonder's  eyes  travelling 
so  rapidly  yet  so  intently  down  the  page.  That  sight 
had  a  curious  fascination  for  him;  he  returned  to 
his  own  work  by  an  effort,  and  an  hour  afterwards 
he  would  be  back  again  at  the  door  of  the  larger 
room.  Sometimes  Lewes  would  hear  him  mutter: 
"If  he  would  only  answer  a  few  questions.  .  .  ." 
There  was  always  one  hope  in  Challis's  mind.  He 
hoped  that  some  sort  of  climax  might  be  reached 
when  the  Encyclopaedia  was  finished.  The  child 
must,  at  least,  ask  then  for  another  book.  Even  if 
he  chose  one  for  himself,  his  choice  might  furnish 
some  sort  of  a  test. 

So  Challis  waited  and  said  little;  and  Lewes  was 
puzzled,  because  he  was  beginning  to  doubt  whether 
it  were  possible  that  the  child  could  sustain  a  pose 
so  long.  That,  in  itself,  would  be  evidence  of  ex 
traordinary  abnormality.  Lewes  fumbled  in  his 
mind  for  another  hypothesis. 

This  reading  craze  may  be  symptomatic  of  some 
form  of  idiocy,  he  thought;  "and  I  don't  believe  he 
does  read,"  was  his  illogical  deduction. 

Mrs.  Stott  usually  came  to  meet  her  son,  and 
sometimes  she  would  come  early  in  the  afternoon 
and  stand  at  the  window  watching  him  at  his  work ; 
but  neither  Challis  nor  Lewes  ever  saw  the  Wonder 


172  THE  WONDER 

display  by  any  sign  that  he  was  aware  of  his  moth 
er's  presence. 

During  those  three  weeks  the  Wonder  held  himself 
completely  detached  from  any  intercourse  with  the 
world  of  men.  At  the  end  of  that  period  he  once 
more  manifested  his  awareness  of  the  human  factor 
in  existence. 

Challis,  if  he  spoke  little  to  Lewes  of  the  Wonder 
during  this  time,  maintained  a  strict  observation  of 
the  child's  doings. 

The  Wonder  began  his  last  volume  of  the  Encyclo 
paedia  one  Wednesday  afternoon  soon  after  lunch, 
and  on  Thursday  morning,  Challis  was  continually 
in  and  out  of  the  room  watching  the  child's  progress, 
and  noting  his  nearness  to  the  end  of  the  colossal 
task  he  had  undertaken. 

At  a  quarter  to  twelve  he  took  up  his  old  position 
in  the  doorway,  and  with  his  hands  clasped  behind 
his  back  he  watched  the  reading  of  the  last  forty 
pages. 

There  was  no  slackening  and  no  quickening  in  the 
Wonder's  rate  of  progress.  He  read  the  articles 
under  "Z"  with  the  same  attention  he  had  given  to 
the  remainder  of  the  work,  and  then,  arrived  at  the 
last  page,  he  closed  the  volume  and  took  up  the 
Index. 

Challis  suffered  a  qualm ;  not  so  much  on  account 
of  the  possible  postponement  of  the  crisis  he  was 


THE  PRISON  OF  KNOWLEDGE        173 

awaiting,  as  because  he  saw  that  the  reading  of  the 
Index  could  only  be  taken  as  a  sign  that  the  whole 
study  had  been  unintelligent.  No  one  could  con 
ceivably  have  any  purpose  in  reading  through  an 
index. 

And  at  this  moment  Lewes  joined  him  in  the  door 
way. 

"What  volume  has  he  got  to  now?"  asked  Lewes. 

"The  Index,"  returned  Chain's. 

Lewes  was  no  less  quick  in  drawing  his  inference 
than  Chain's  had  been. 

"Well,  that  settles  it,  I  should  think,"  was 
Lewes's  comment. 

"Wait,  wait,"  returned  Challis. 

The  Wonder  turned  a  dozen  pages  at  once,  glanced 
at  the  new  opening,  made  a  further  brief  examination 
of  two  or  three  headings  near  the  end  of  the  volume, 
closed  the  book,  and  looked  up. 

"Have  you  finished?"  asked  Challis. 

The  Wonder  shook  his  head.  "All  this,"  he  said 
— he  indicated  with  a  small  and  dirty  hand  the  pile 
of  volumes  that  were  massed  round  him — "all 
this  .  .  ."  he  repeated,  hesitated  for  a  word,  and 
again  shook  his  head  with  that  solemn,  deliberate 
impressiveness  which  marked  all  his  actions. 

Challis  came  towards  the  child,  leaned  over  the 
table  for  a  moment,  and  then  sat  down  opposite  to 


174  THE  WONDER 

him.  Between  the  two  protagonists  hovered  Lewes, 
sceptical,  inclined  towards  aggression. 

"I  am  most  interested,"  said  Challis.  "Will  you 
try  to  tell  me,  my  boy,  what  you  think  of— all  this  ?" 

"So  elementary  .  .  .  inchoate  ...  a  disjunc 
tive  .  .  .  patchwork,"  replied  the  Wonder.  His 
abstracted  eyes  were  blind  to  the  objective  world  of 
our  reality;  he  seemed  to  be  profoundly  analysing 
the  very  elements  of  thought. 


vn 

Then  that  almost  voiceless  child  found  words. 
Heathcote's  announcement  of  lunch  was  waved  aside, 
the  long  afternoon  waned,  and  still  that  thin  trickle 
of  sound  flowed  on. 

The  Wonder  spoke  in  odd,  pedantic  phrases ;  he 
used  the  technicalities  of  every  science;  he  con 
structed  his  sentences  in  unusual  ways,  and  often  he 
paused  for  a  word  and  gave  up  the  search,  admitting 
that  his  meaning  could  not  be  expressed  through 
the  medium  of  any  language  known  to  him. 

Occasionally  Challis  would  interrupt  him  fiercely, 
would  even  rise  from  his  chair  and  pace  the  room, 
arguing,  stating  a  point  of  view,  combating  some 
suggestion  that  underlay  the  trend  of  that  pitiless 
wisdom  which  in  the  end  bore  him  down  with  its 
unanswerable  insistence. 


THE  PRISON  OF  KNOWLEDGE        175 

During  those  long  hours  much  was  stated  by  that 
small,  thin  voice  which  was  utterly  beyond  the  com 
prehension  of  the  two  listeners ;  indeed,  it  is  doubt 
ful  whether  even  Challis  understood  a  tithe  of  the 
theory  that  was  actually  expressed  in  words. 

As  for  Lewes,  though  he  was  at  the  time  non 
plussed,  quelled,  he  was  in  the  outcome  impressed 
rather  by  the  marvellous  powers  of  memory  exhibited 
than  by  the  far  finer  powers  shown  in  the  super 
human  logic  of  the  synthesis. 

One  sees  that  Lewes  entered  upon  the  interview 
with  a  mind  predisposed  to  criticise,  to  destroy. 
There  can  be  no  doubt  that  as  he  listened  his  unin 
formed  mind  was  endeavouring  to  analyse,  to  weigh, 
and  to  oppose;  and  this  antagonism  and  his  own 
thoughts  continually  interposed  between  him  and 
the  thought  of  the  speaker.  Lewes's  account  of 
what  was  spoken  on  that  afternoon  is  utterly 
worthless. 

Challis's  failure  to  comprehend  was  not,  at  the 
outset,  due  to  his  antagonistic  attitude.  He  began 
with  an  earnest  wish  to  understand :  he  failed  only 
because  the  thing  spoken  was  beyond  the  scope  of 
his  intellectual  powers.  But  he  did,  nevertheless, 
understand  the  trend  of  that  analysis  of  progress; 
he  did  in  some  half-realised  way  apprehend  the  gist 
of  that  terrible  deduction  of  a  final  adjustment. 

He  must  have  apprehended,  in  part,  for  he  fiercely 


176  THE  WONDER 

combated  the  argument,  only  to  quaver,  at  last,  into 
a  silence  which  permitted  again  that  trickle  of  hesi 
tating,  pedantic  speech,  which  was  yet  so  overwhelm 
ing,  so  conclusive. 

As  the  afternoon  wore  on,  however,  Challis's  atti 
tude  must  have  changed;  he  must  have  assumed  an 
armour  of  mental  resistance  not  unlike  the  resist 
ance  of  Lewes.  Challis  perceived,  however  dimly, 
that  life  would  hold  no  further  pleasure  for  him  if 
he  accepted  that  theory  of  origin,  evolution,  and 
final  adjustment;  he  found  in  this  cosmogony  no 
place  for  his  own  idealism ;  and  he  feared  to  be  con 
vinced  even  by  that  fraction  of  the  whole  argument 
which  he  could  understand. 

We  see  that  Challis,  with  all  his  apparent  devotion 
to  science,  was  never  more  than  a  dilettante.  He 
had  another  stake  in  the  world  which,  at  the  last 
analysis,  he  valued  more  highly  than  the  acquisition 
of  knowledge.  Those  means  of  ease,  of  comfort,  of 
liberty,  of  opportunity  to  choose  his  work  among 
various  interests,  were  the  ruling  influence  of  his 
life.  With  it  all  Challis  was  an  idealist,  and  unprac 
tical.  His  genial  charity,  his  refinement  of  mind, 
his  unthinking  generosity,  indicate  the  bias  of  a 
character  which  inclined  always  towards  a  pic 
turesque  optimism.  It  is  not  difficult  to  understand 
that  he  dared  not  allow  himself  to  be  convinced  by 
Victor  Stott's  appalling  synthesis. 


THE  PRISON  OF  KNOWLEDGE        177 

At  last,  when  the  twilight  was  deepening  into 
night,  the  voice  ceased,  the  child's  story  had  been 
told,  and  it  had  not  been  understood.  The  Wonder 
never  again  spoke  of  his  theory  of  life.  He  realised 
from  that  time  that  no  one  could  comprehend  him. 

As  he  rose  to  go,  he  asked  one  question  that, 
simple  as  was  its  expression,  had  a  deep  and  wonder 
ful  significance. 

"Is  there  none  of  my  kind?"  he  said.  "Is  this," 
and  he  laid  a  hand  on  the  pile  of  books  before  him, 
"is  this  all?" 

"There  is  none  of  your  kind,"  replied  Challis ;  and 
the  little  figure  born  into  a  world  that  could  not 
understand  him,  that  was  not  ready  to  receive  him, 
walked  to  the  window  and  climbed  out  into  the 
darkness. 

(Henry  Challis  is  the  only  man  who  could  ever 
have  given  any  account  of  that  extraordinary 
analysis  of  life,  and  he  made  no  effort  to  recall  the 
fundamental  basis  of  the  argument,  and  so  allowed 
his  memory  of  the  essential  part  to  fade.  Moreover, 
he  had  a  marked  disinclination  to  speak  of  that 
afternoon  or  of  anything  that  was  said  by  Victor 
Stott  during  those  six  momentous  hours  of  expres 
sion.  It  is  evident  that  Challis's  attitude  to  Victor 
Stott  was  not  unlike  the  attitude  of  Captain  Wallis 
to  Victor  Stott's  father  on  the  occasion  of  Hampden- 


178  THE  WONDER 

shire's  historic  match  with  Surrey.  "This  man  will 
have  to  be  barred,"  Wallis  said.  "It  means  the  end 
of  cricket."  Challis,  in  effect,  thought  that  if  Victor 
Stott  were  encouraged,  it  would  mean  the  end  of 
research,  philosophy,  all  the  mystery,  idealism,  and 
joy  of  life.  Once,  and  once  only,  did  Challis  give 
me  any  idea  of  what  he  had  learned  during  that 
afternoon's  colloquy,  and  the  substance  of  what 
Challis  then  told  me  will  be  found  at  the  end  of  this 
volume. ) 


CHAPTER    X 

HIS    PASTOES    AND    MASTERS 


FOE  many  months  after  that  long  afternoon  in  the 
library,  Challis  was  affected  with  a  fever  of  restless 
ness,  and  his  work  on  the  book  stood  still.  He  was 
in  Rome  during  May,  and  in  June  he  was  seized  by 
a  sudden  whim  and  went  to  China  by  the  Trans- 
Siberian  railway.  Lewes  did  not  accompany  him. 
Challis  preferred,  one  imagines,  to  have  no  inter 
course  with  Lewes  while  the  memory  of  certain  pro 
nouncements  was  still  fresh.  He  might  have  been 
tempted  to  discuss  that  interview,  and  if,  as  was 
practically  certain,  Lewes  attempted  to  pour  con 
tempt  on  the  whole  affair,  Challis  might  have  been 
drawn  into  a  defence  which  would  have  revived  many 
memories  he  wished  to  obliterate. 

He  came  back  to  London  in  September — he  made 
the  return  journey  by  steamer — and  found  his  secre 
tary  still  working  at  the  monograph  on  the  primitive 
peoples  of  Melanesia. 

Lewes  had  spent  the  whole  summer  in  Challis's 
179 


180  THE  WONDER 

town  house  in  Eaton  Square,  whither  all  the  material 
had  been  removed  two  days  after  that  momentous 
afternoon  in  the  library  of  Challis  Court. 

"I  have  been  wanting  your  help  badly  for  some 
time,  sir,"  Lewes  said  on  the  evening  of  Challis's 
return.  "Are  you  proposing  to  take  up  the  work 
again?  If  not  .  .  ."  Gregory  Lewes  thought  he 
was  wasting  valuable  time. 

"Yes,  yes,  of  course;  I  am  ready  to  begin  again 
now,  if  you  care  to  go  on  with  me,"  said  Challis. 
He  talked  for  a  few  minutes  of  the  book  without 
any  great  show  of  interest.  Presently  they  came  to 
a  pause,  and  Lewes  suggested  that  he  should  give 
some  account  of  how  his  time  had  been  spent. 

"To-morrow,"  replied  Challis,  "to-morrow  will  be 
time  enough.  I  shall  settle  down  again  in  a  few 
days."  He  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  said: 
"Any  news  from  Chilborough  ?" 

"N-no,  I  don't  think  so,"  returned  Lewes.  He 
was  occupied  with  his  own  interests ;  he  doubted 
Challis's  intention  to  continue  his  work  on  the  book 
— the  announcement  had  been  so  half-hearted. 

"What  about  that  child?"  asked  Challis. 

"That  child?"  Lewes  appeared  to  have  forgotten 
the  existence  of  Victor  Stott. 

"That  abnormal  child  of  Stott's?"  prompted 
Challis. 

"Oh !    Of  course,  yes.    I  believe  he  still  goes  nearly 


PASTORS  AND  MASTERS     181 

every  day  to  the  library.  I  have  been  down  there 
two  or  three  times,  and  found  him  reading.  He 
has  learned  the  use  of  the  index-catalogue.  He  can 
get  any  book  he  wants.  He  uses  the  steps." 

"Do  you  know  what  he  reads?" 

"No;  I  can't  say  I  do." 

"What  do  you  think  will  become  of  him  ?" 

"Oh!  these  infant  prodigies,  you  know,"  said 
Lewes  with  a  large  air  of  authority,  "they  all  go 
the  same  way.  Most  of  them  die  young,  of  course, 
the  others  develop  into  ordinary  commonplace  men 
rather  under  than  over  the  normal  ability.  After 
all,  it  is  what  one  would  expect.  Nature  always 
maintains  her  average  by  some  means  or  another. 
If  a  child  like  this  with  his  abnormal  memory  were 
to  go  on  developing,  there  would  be  no  place  for 
him  in  the  world's  economy.  The  idea  is  incon 
ceivable." 

"Quite,  quite,"  murmured  Challis,  and  after  a 
short  silence  he  added:  "You  think  he  will  deterio 
rate,  that  his  faculties  will  decay  prematurely?" 

"I  should  say  there  could  be  no  doubt  of  it," 
replied  Lewes. 

"Ah!  well.  I'll  go  down  and  have  a  look  at  him, 
one  day  next  week,"  said  Challis;  but  he  did  not 
go  till  the  middle  of  October. 

The  immediate  cause  of  his  going  was  a  letter  from 


182  THE  WONDER 

Crashaw,  who  offered  to  come  up  to  town,  as  the 
matter  was  one  of  "really  peculiar  urgency." 

"I  wonder  if  young  Stott  has  been  blaspheming 
again,"  Challis  remarked  to  Lewes.  "Wire  the  man 
that  I'll  go  down  and  see  him  this  afternoon.  I 
shall  motor.  Say  I'll  be  at  Stoke  about  half-past 
three." 


Challis  was  ushered  into  Crashaw's  study  on  his 
arrival,  and  found  the  rector  in  company  with  an 
other  man — introduced  as  Mr.  Forman — a  jolly- 
looking,  high-complexioned  man  of  sixty  or  so,  with 
a  great  quantity  of  white  hair  on  his  head  and  face ; 
he  was  wearing  an  old-fashioned  morning-coat  and 
grey  trousers  that  were  noticeably  too  short  for  him. 

Crashaw  lost  no  time  in  introducing  the  subject 
of  "really  peculiar  urgency,"  but  he  rambled  in  his 
introduction. 

"You  have  probably  forgotten,"  he  said,  "that 
last  spring  I  had  to  bring  a  most  horrible  charge 
against  a  child  called  Victor  Stott,  who  has  since 
been  living,  practically,  as  I  may  say,  under  your 
a?gis,  that  is,  he  has,  at  least,  spent  a  greater  part 
of  his  day,  er — playing  in  your  library  at  Challis 
Court." 

"Quite,  quite ;  I  remember  perfectly,"  said  Challis. 
"I  made  myself  responsible  for  him  up  to  a  certain 


PASTORS  AND  MASTERS     183 

point.  I  gave  him  an  occupation.  It  was  intended, 
was  it  not,  to  divert  his  mind  from  speaking  against 
religion  to  the  yokels?" 

"Quite  a  character,  if  I  may  say  so,"  put  in  Mr. 
Forman  cheerfully. 

Crashaw  was  seated  at  his  study  table;  the  affair 
had  something  the  effect  of  an  examining  magistrate 
taking  the  evidence  of  witnesses. 

"Yes,  yes,"  he  said  testily;  "I  did  ask  your  help, 
Mr.  Challis,  and  I  did,  in  a  way,  receive  some  assist 
ance  from  you.  That  is,  the  child  has  to  some  extent 
been  isolated  by  spending  so  much  of  his  time  at  your 
house." 

"Has  he  broken  out  again?"  asked  Challis. 

"If  I  understand  you  to  mean  has  the  child  been 
speaking  openly  on  any  subject  connected  with 
religion,  I  must  say  'No,'  "  said  Crashaw.  "But  he 
never  attends  any  Sunday  school,  or  place  of  wor 
ship;  he  has  received  no  instruction  in — er — any 
sacred  subject,  though  I  understand  he  is  able  to 
read;  and  his  time  is  spent  among  books  which, 
pardon  me,  would  not,  I  suppose,  be  likely  to  give 
a  serious  turn  to  his  thoughts." 

"Serious?"  questioned  Challis. 

"Perhaps  I  should  say  'religious,' "  replied 
Crashaw.  "To  me  the  two  words  are  synony 
mous." 

Mr.  Forman  bowed  his  head  slightly  with  an  air 


184  THE  WONDER 

of  reverence,  and  nodded  two  or  three  times  to  ex 
press  his  perfect  approval  of  the  rector's  sentiments. 

"You  think  the  child's  mind  is  being  perverted 
by  his  intercourse  with  the  books  in  the  library 
where  he — he — 'plays'  was  your  word,  I  believe?" 

"No,  not  altogether,"  replied  Crashaw,  drawing 
his  eyebrows  together.  "We  can  hardly  suppose 
that  he  is  able  at  so  tender  an  age  to  read,  much  less 
to  understand,  those  works  of  philosophy  and  science 
which  would  produce  an  evil  effect  on  his  mind.  I 
am  willing  to  admit,  since  I,  too,  have  had  some 
training  in  scientific  reading,  that  writers  on  those 
subjects  are  not  easily  understood  even  by  the  ma 
ture  intelligence." 

"Then  why,  exactly,  do  you  wish  me  to  prohibit 
the  child  from  coming  to  Challis  Court?" 

"Possibly  you  have  not  realised  that  the  child  is 
now  five  years  old?"  said  Crashaw  with  an  air  of 
conferring  illumination. 

"Indeed!  Yes.  An  age  of  some  discretion,  no 
doubt,"  returned  Challis. 

"An  age  at  which  the  State  requires  that  he 
should  receive  the  elements  of  education,"  continued 
Crashaw. 

"Eh?"  said  Challis. 

"Time  he  went  to  school,"  explained  Mr.  For- 
man.  "I've  been  after  him,  you  know.  I'm  the 
attendance  officer  for  this  district." 


PASTORS  AND  MASTERS     185 

Challis  for  once  committed  a  breach  of  good  man 
ners.  The  import  of  the  thing  suddenly  appealed 
to  his  sense  of  humour:  he  began  to  chuckle  and 
then  he  laughed  out  a  great,  hearty  laugh,  such  as 
had  not  been  stirred  in  him  for  twenty  years. 

"Oh!  forgive  me,  forgive  me,"  he  said,  when  he 
had  recovered  his  self-control.  "But  you  don't 
know;  you  can't  conceive  the  utter,  childish  absurd 
ity  of  setting  that  child  to  recite  the  multiplication 
table  with  village  infants  of  his  own  age.  Oh!  be 
lieve  me,  if  you  could  only  guess,  you  would  laugh 
with  me.  It's  so  funny,  so  inimitably  funny." 

"I  fail  to  see,  Mr.  Challis,"  said  Crashaw,  "that 
there  is  anything  in  any  way  absurd  or — or  unusual 
in  the  proposition." 

"Five  is  the  age  fixed  by  the  State,"  said  Mr. 
Forman.  He  had  relaxed  into  a  broad  smile  in 
sympathy  with  Challis's  laugh,  but  he  had  now  re 
lapsed  into  a  fair  imitation  of  Crashaw's  intense 
seriousness. 

"Oh!  How  can  I  explain?"  said  Challis.  "Let 
me  take  an  instance.  You  propose  to  teach  him, 
among  other  things,  the  elements  of  arithmetic?" 

"It  is  a  part  of  the  curriculum,"  replied  Mr. 
Forman. 

"I  have  only  had  one  conversation  with  this 
child,"  went  on  Challis — and  at  the  mention  of  that 
conversation  his  brows  drew  together  and  he  became 


186  THE  WONDER 

very  grave  again;  "but  in  the  course  of  that  con 
versation  this  child  had  occasion  to  refer,  by  way  of 
illustration,  to  some  abstruse  theorem  of  the  differ 
ential  calculus.  He  did  it,  you  will  understand,  by 
way  of  making  his  meaning  clear — though  the  illus 
tration  was  utterly  beyond  me:  that  reference  rep 
resented  an  act  of  intellectual  condescension." 

"God  bless  me,  you  don't  say  so?"  said  Mr. 
Forman. 

"I  cannot  see,"  said  Crashaw,  "that  this  instance 
of  yours,  Mr.  Chain's,  has  any  real  bearing  on  the 
situation.  If  the  child  is  a  mathematical  genius — 
there  have  been  instances  in  history,  such  as  Blaise 
Pascal — he  would  not,  of  course,  receive  elementary 
instruction  in  a  subject  with  which  he  was  already 
acquainted." 

"You  could  not  find  any  subject,  believe  me. 
Crashaw,  in  which  he  could  be  instructed  by  any 
teacher  in  a  Council  school." 

"Forgive  me,  I  don't  agree  with  you,"  returned 
Crashaw.  "He  is  sadly  in  need  of  some  religious 
training." 

"He  would  not  get  that  at  a  Council  school,"  said 
Challis,  and  Mr.  Forman  shook  his  head  sadly,  as 
though  he  greatly  deprecated  the  fact. 

"He  must  learn  to  recognise  authority,"  said 
Crashaw.  "When  he  has  been  taught  the  necessity 
of  submitting  himself  to  all  his  governors,  teachers, 


PASTORS  AND  MASTERS     187 

spiritual  pastors,  and  masters:  ordering  himself 
lowly  and  reverently  to  all  his  betters ;  when,  I  say, 
he  has  learnt  that  lesson,  he  may  be  in  a  fit  and 
proper  condition  to  receive  the  teachings  of  the  Holy 
Church." 

Mr.  Forman  appeared  to  think  he  was  attending 
divine  service.  If  the  rector  had  said  "Let  us  pray," 
there  can  be  no  doubt  that  he  would  immediately 
have  fallen  on  his  knees. 

Challis  shook  his  head.  "You  can't  understand, 
Crashaw,"  he  said. 

"I  do  understand,"  said  Crashaw,  rising  to  his 
feet,  "and  I  intend  to  see  that  the  statute  is  not 
disobeyed  in  the  case  of  this  child,  Victor  Stott." 

Challis  shrugged  his  shoulders ;  Mr.  Forman  as 
sumed  an  expression  of  stern  determination. 

"In  any  case,  why  drag  me  into  it?"  asked 
Challis. 

Crashaw  sat  down  again.  The  flush  which  had 
warmed  his  sallow  skin  subsided  as  his  passion  died 
out.  He  had  worked  himself  into  a  condition  of 
righteous  indignation,  but  the  calm  politeness  of 
Challis  rebuked  him.  If  Crashaw  prided  himself  on 
his  devotion  to  the  Church,  he  did  not  wish  that 
attitude  to  overshadow  the  pride  he  also  took  in  the 
belief  that  he  was  Challis's  social  equal.  Crashaw's 
father  had  been  a  lawyer,  with  a  fair  practice  in 
Derby,  but  he  had  worked  his  way  up  to  a  partner- 


188  THE  WONDER 

ship  from  the  position  of  office-boy,  and  Percy 
Crashaw  seldom  forgot  to  be  conscious  that  he  was 
a  gentleman  by  education  and  profession. 

"I  did  not  wish  to  drag  you  into  this  business," 
he  said  quietly,  putting  his  elbows  on  the  writing- 
table  in  front  of  him,  and  reassuming  the  judicial 
attitude  he  had  adopted  earlier;  "but  I  regard  this 
child  as,  in  some  sense,  your  protege."  Crashaw  put 
the  tips  of  his  fingers  together,  and  Mr.  Forman 
watched  him  warily,  waiting  for  his  cue.  If  this  was 
to  be  a  case  for  prayer,  Mr.  Forman  was  ready,  with 
a  clean  white  handkerchief  to  kneel  upon. 

"In  some  sense,  perhaps,"  returned  Challis.  "I 
haven't  seen  him  for  some  months." 

"Cannot  you  see  the  necessity  of  his  attending 
school?"  asked  Crashaw,  this  time  with  an  insinu 
ating  suavity;  he  believed  that  Challis  was  coming 
round. 

"Oh !"  Challis  sighed  with  a  note  of  expostulation. 
"Oh!  the  thing's  grotesque,  ridiculous." 

"If  that's  so,"  put  in  Mr.  Forman,  who  had  been 
struck  by  a  brilliant  idea,  "why  not  bring  the  child 
here,  and  let  the  Reverend  Mr.  Crashaw,  or  myself, 
put  a  few  general  questions  to  'im?" 

"Ye-es,"  hesitated  Crashaw,  "that  might  be  done ; 
but,  of  course,  the  decision  does  not  rest  with  us." 

"It    rests    with    the    Local    Authority,"    mused 


PASTORS  AND  MASTERS     189 

Challis.  He  was  running  over  three  or  four  names  of 
members  of  that  body  who  were  known  to  him. 

"Certainly,"  said  Crashaw,  "the  Local  Education 

Authority  alone  has  the  right  to  prosecute,  but " 

He  did  not  state  his  antithesis.  They  had  come  to 
the  crux  which  Crashaw  had  wished  to  avoid.  He 
had  no  influence  with  the  committee  of  the  L.E.A., 
and  Challis's  recommendation  would  have  much 
weight.  Crashaw  intended  that  Victor  Stott  should 
attend  school,  but  he  had  bungled  his  preliminaries ; 
he  had  rested  on  his  own  authority,  and  forgotten 
that  Challis  had  little  respect  for  that  influence. 
Conciliation  was  the  only  card  to  play  now. 

"If  I  brought  him,  he  wouldn't  answer  your  ques 
tions,"  sighed  Challis.  "He's  very  difficult  to  deal 
with." 

"Is  he,  indeed?"  sympathised  Mr.  Forman.  "I've 
'ardly  seen  'im  myself ;  not  to  speak  to,  that  is." 

"He  might  come  with  his  mother,"  suggested 
Crashaw. 

Challis  shook  his  head.  "By  the  way,  it  is  the 
mother  whom  you  would  proceed  against?"  he  asked. 

"The  parent  is  responsible,"  said  Mr.  Forman. 
"She  will  be  brought  before  a  magistrate  and  fined 
for  the  first  offence." 

"I  shan't  fine  her  if  she  comes  before  me,"  replied 
Challis. 


190  THE  WONDER 

Crashaw  smiled.  He  meant  to  avoid  that  eventu 
ality. 

The  little  meeting  lapsed  into  a  brief  silence. 
There  seemed  to  be  nothing  more  to  say. 

"Well,"  said  Crashaw,  at  last,  with  a  rising  in 
flexion  that  had  a  conciliatory,  encouraging,  now- 
my-little-man  kind  of  air,  "We-11,  of  course,  no  one 
wishes  to  proceed  to  extremes.  I  think,  Mr.  Challis, 
I  think  I  may  say  that  you  are  the  person  who  has 
most  influence  in  this  matter,  and  I  cannot  believe 
that  you  will  go  against  the  established  authority 
both  of  the  Church  and  the  State.  If  it  were  only 
for  the  sake  of  example." 

Challis  rose  deliberately.  He  shook  his  head,  and 
unconsciously  his  hands  went  behind  his  back.  There 
was  hardly  room  for  him  to  pace  up  and  down,  but 
he  took  two  steps  towards  Mr.  Forman,  who  immedi 
ately  rose  to  his  feet;  and  then  turned  and  went 
over  to  the  window.  It  was  from  there  that  he 
pronounced  his  ultimatum. 

"Regulations,  laws,  religious  and  lay  authorities," 
he  said,  "come  into  existence  in  order  to  deal  with 
the  rule,  the  average.  That  must  be  so.  But  if  we 
are  a  reasoning,  intellectual  people  we  must  have 
some  means  of  dealing  with  the  exception.  That 
means  rests  with  a  consensus  of  intelligent  opinion 
strong  enough  to  set  the  rule  upon  one  side.  In  an 
overwhelming  majority  of  cases  there  is  no  such 


PASTORS  AND  MASTERS     191 

consensus  of  opinion,  and  the  exceptional  individual 
suffers  by  coming  within  the  rule  of  a  law  which 
should  not  apply  to  him.  Now,  I  put  it  to  you,  as 
reasoning,  intelligent  men"  ('ear,  'ear,  murmured 
Mr.  Forman  automatically),  "are  we,  now  that  we 
have  the  power  to  perform  a  common  act  of  justice, 
to  exempt  an  unfortunate  individual  exception  who 
has  come  within  the  rule  of  a  law  that  holds  no 
application  for  him,  or  are  we  to  exhibit  a  crass 
stupidity  by  enforcing  that  law  ?  Is  it  not  better  to 
take  the  case  into  our  own  hands,  and  act  according 
to  the  dictates  of  common  sense?" 

"Very  forcibly  put,"  murmured  Mr.  Forman. 

"I'm  not  finding  any  fault  with  the  law  or  the 
principle  of  the  law,"  continued  Challis;  "but  it  is, 
it  must  be,  framed  for  the  average.  We  must  use 
our  discretion  in  dealing  with  the  exception — and 
this  is  an  exception  such  as  has  never  occurred  since 
we  have  had  an  Education  Act." 

"I  don't  agree  with  you,"  said  Crashaw,  stub 
bornly.  "I  do  not  consider  this  an  exception." 

"But  you  must  agree  with  me,  Crashaw.  I  have 
a  certain  amount  of  influence  and  I  shall  use  it." 

"In  that  case,"  replied  Crashaw,  rising  to  his  feet, 
"I  shall  fight  you  to  the  bitter  end.  I  am  deter 
mined" — he  raised  his  voice  and  struck  the  writing- 
table  with  his  fist — "I  am  determined  that  this 
infidel  child  shall  go  to  school.  I  am  prepared,  if 


192  THE  WONDER 

necessary,  to  spend  all  my  leisure  in  seeing  that  the 
law  is  carried  out." 

Mr.  Forman  had  also  risen.  "Very  right,  very 
right,  indeed,"  he  said,  and  he  knitted  his  mild  brows 
and  stroked  his  patriarchal  white  beard  with  an 
appearance  of  stern  determination. 

"I  think  you  would  be  better  advised  to  let  the 
matter  rest,"  said  Challis. 

Mr.  Forman  looked  inquiringly  at  the  representa 
tive  of  the  Church. 

"I  shall  fight,"  replied  Crashaw,  stubbornly, 
fiercely. 

"Ha!"  said  Mr.  Forman. 

"Very  well,  as  you  think  best,"  was  Challis's  last 
word. 

As  Challis  walked  down  to  the  gate,  where  his 
motor  was  waiting  for  him,  Mr.  Forman  trotted  up 
from  behind  and  ranged  himself  alongside. 

"More  rain  wanted  yet  for  the  roots,  sir,"  he  said. 
"September  was  a  grand  month  for  'arvest,  but  we 
want  rain  badly  now." 

"Quite,  quite,"  murmured  Challis,  politely.  He 
shook  hands  with  Mr.  Forman  before  he  got  into 
the  car. 

Mr.  Forman,  standing  politely  bareheaded,  saw 
that  Mr.  Challis's  car  went  in  the  direction  of 
Ailesworth. 


CHAPTER    XI 

HIS    EXAMINATION 


CHALLIS'S  first  visit  was  paid  to  Sir  Deane  Elmer,* 
that  man  of  many  activities,  whose  name  inevitably 
suggests  his  favourite  phrase  of  "Organised  Prog 
ress" — with  all  its  variants. 

This  is  hardly  the  place  in  which  to  criticise  a 
man  of  such  diverse  abilities  as  Deane  Elmer,  a  man 
whose  name  still  figures  so  prominently  in  the  pub 
lic  press  in  connection  with  all  that  is  most  modern 
in  eugenics;  with  the  Social  Reform  programme  of 
the  moderate  party;  with  the  reconstruction  of  our 
penal  system;  with  education,  and  so  many  kindred 
interests ;  and,  finally,  of  course,  with  colour  pho 
tography  and  process  printing.  This  last  Deane 
Elmer  always  spoke  of  as  his  hobby,  but  we  may 
doubt  whether  all  his  interests  were  not  hobbies  in 
the  same  sense.  He  is  the  natural  descendant  of 
those  earlier  amateur  scientists — the  adjective  con 
veys  no  reproach — of  the  nineteenth  century,  among 
*  Afterwards  Lord  Quainton. 
193 


194  THE  WONDER 

whom  we  remember  such  striking  figures  as  those  of 
Lord  Avebury  and  Sir  Francis  Galton. 

In  appearance  Deane  Elmer  was  a  big,  heavy, 
rather  corpulent  man,  with  a  high  complexion,  and 
his  clean-shaven  jowl  and  his  succession  of  chins 
hung  in  heavy  folds.  But  any  suggestion  of  material 
grossness  was  contradicted  by  the  brightness  of  his 
rather  pale-blue  eyes,  by  his  alertness  of  manner, 
and  by  his  ready,  whimsical  humour. 

As  chairman  of  the  Ailesworth  County  Council, 
and  its  most  prominent  unpaid  public  official — after 
the  mayor — Sir  Deane  Elmer  was  certainly  the  most 
important  member  of  the  Local  Authority,  and 
Chain's  wisely  sought  him  at  once.  He  found  him 
in  the  garden  of  his  comparatively  small  establish 
ment  on  the  Quainton  side  of  the  town.  Elmer  was 
very  much  engaged  in  photographing  flowers  from 
nature  through  the  ruled  screen  and  colour  filter — in 
experimenting  with  the  Elmer  process,  in  fact;  by 
which  the  intermediate  stage  of  a  coloured  negative 
is  rendered  unnecessary.  His  apparatus  was  com 
plicated  and  cumbrous. 

"Show  Mr.  Challis  out  here,"  he  commanded  the 
man  who  brought  the  announcement. 

"You  must  forgive  me,  Challis,"  said  Elmer,  when 
Challis  appeared.  "We  haven't  had  such  a  still  day 
for  weeks.  It's  the  wind  upsets  us  in  this  process. 
Screens  create  a  partial  vacuum." 


HIS  EXAMINATION  195 

He  was  launched  on  a  lecture  upon  his  darling 
process  before"  Challis  could  get  in  a  word.  It  was 
best  to  let  him  have  his  head,  and  Challis  took  an 
intelligent  interest. 

It  was  not  until  the  photographs  were  taken,  and 
his  two  assistants  could  safely  be  trusted  to  com 
plete  the  mechanical  operations,  that  Elmer  could 
be  divorced  from  his  hobby.  He  was  full  of  jubila 
tion.  "We  should  have  excellent  results,"  he 
boomed — he  had  a  tremendous  voice — "but  we  shan't 
be  able  to  judge  until  we  get  the  blocks  made.  We 
do  it  all  on  the  spot.  I  have  a  couple  of  platens  in 
the  shops  here ;  but  we  shan't  be  able  to  take  a  pull 
until  to-morrow  morning,  I'm  afraid.  You  shall 
have  a  proof,  Challis.  We  should  get  magnificent 
results."  He  looked  benignantly  at  the  vault  of 
heaven,  which  had  been  so  obligingly  free  from  any 
current  of  air. 

Challis  was  beginning  to  fear  that  even  now  he 
would  be  allowed  no  opportunity  to  open  the  subject 
of  his  mission.  But  quite  suddenly  Elmer  dropped 
the  shutter  on  his  preoccupation,  and  with  that 
ready  adaptability  which  was  so  characteristic  of 
the  man,  forgot  his  hobby  for  the  time  being,  and 
turned  his  whole  attention  to  a  new  subject. 

"Well?"  he  said,  "what  is  the  latest  news  in 
anthropology  ?" 


196  THE  WONDER 

"A  very  remarkable  phenomenon,"  replied  Challis. 
"That  is  what  I  have  come  to  see  you  about." 

"I  thought  you  were  in  Paraguay  pigging  it  with 
the  Guaranis " 

"No,  no ;  I  don't  touch  the  Americas,"  interposed 
Challis.  "I  want  all  your  attention,  Elmer.  This 
is  important." 

"Come  into  my  study,"  said  Elmer,  "and  let  us 
have  the  facts.  What  will  you  have — tea,  whisky, 
beer?" 

ChallisV  resume  of  the  facts  need  not  be  reported. 
When  it  was  accomplished,  Elmer  put  several  keen 
questions,  and  finally  delivered  his  verdict  thus : 

"We  must  see  the  boy,  Challis.  Personally  I  am, 
of  course,  satisfied,  but  we  must  not  give  Crashaw 
opportunity  to  raise  endless  questions,  as  he  can  and 
will.  There  is  Mayor  Purvis,  the  grocer,  to  be  reck 
oned  with,  you  must  remember.  He  represents  a 
powerful  Nonconformist  influence.  Crashaw  will  get 
hold  of  him — and  work  him  if  we  see  Purvis  first. 
Purvis  always  stiffens  his  neck  against  any  breach 
of  conventional  procedure.  If  Crashaw  saw  him 
first,  well  and  good,  Purvis  would  immediately  jump 
to  the  conclusion  that  Crashaw  intended  some  subtle 
attack  on  the  Nonconformist  position,  and  would 
side  with  us." 

"I  don't  think  I  know  Purvis,"  mused  Challis. 

"Purvis  &  Co.  in  the  Square,"  prompted  Elmer. 


HIS  EXAMINATION  197 

"Black-and-white  fellow;  black  moustache  and  side 
whiskers,  black  eyes  and  white  face.  There's  a  sug 
gestion  of  the  Methodist  pulpit  about  him.  Doesn't 
appear  in  the  shop  much,  and  when  he  does,  always 
looks  as  if  he'd  sooner  sell  you  a  Bible  than  a  bottle 
of  whisky." 

"Ah,  yes !  I  know,"  said  Challis.  "I  daresay 
you're  right,  Elmer;  but  it  will  be  difficult  to  per 
suade  this  child  to  answer  any  questions  his  exam 
iners  may  put  to  him." 

"Surely  he  must  be  open  to  reason,"  roared  Elmer. 
"You  tell  me  he  has  an  extraordinary  intelligence, 
and  in  the  next  sentence  you  imply  that  the  child's  a 
fool  who  can't  open  his  mouth  to  serve  his  own 
interests.  What's  your  paradox?" 

"Sublimated  material.  Intellectual  insight  and 
absolute  spiritual  blindness,"  replied  Challis,  getting 
to  his  feet.  "The  child  has  gone  too  far  in  one 
direction — in  another  he  has  made  not  one  step.  His 
mind  is  a  magnificent,  terrible  machine.  He  has  the 
imagination  of  a  mathematician  and  a  logician  de 
veloped  beyond  all  conception,  he  has  not  one  spark 
of  the  imagination  of  a  poet.  And  so  he  cannot 
deal  with  men ;  he  can't  understand  their  weaknesses 
and  limitations ;  they  are  geese  and  hens  to  him, 
creatures  to  be  scared  out  of  his  vicinity.  However, 
I  will  see  what  I  can  do.  Could  you  arrange  for 
the  members  of  the  Authority  to  come  to  my  place?" 


198  THE  WONDER 

"I  should  think  so.  Yes,"  said  Elmer.  "I  say, 
Challis,  are  you  sure  you're  right  about  this  child? 
Sounds  to  me  like  some — some  freak." 

"You'll  see,"  returned  Challis.  "I'll  try  and 
arrange  an  interview.  I'll  let  you  know." 

"And,  by  the  way,"  said  Elmer,  "you  had  better 
invite  Crashaw  to  be  present.  He  will  put  Purvis's 
back  up,  and  that'll  enlist  the  difficult  grocer  on 
our  side  probably." 

When  Challis  had  gone,  Elmer  stood  for  a  few 
minutes,  thoughtfully  scratching  the  ample  red  sur 
face  of  his  wide,  clean-shaven  cheek.  "I  don't 
know,"  he  ejaculated  at  last,  addressing  his  empty 
study,  "I  don't  know."  And  with  that  expression 
he  put  all  thought  of  Victor  Stott  away  from  him, 
and  sat  down  to  write  an  exhaustive  article  on  the 
necessity  for  a  broader  basis  in  primary  education. 


ii 


Challis  called  at  the  rectory  of  Stoke-Underhill  on 
the  way  back  to  his  own  house. 

"I  give  way,"  was  the  characteristic  of  his  atti 
tude  to  Crashaw,  and  the  rector  suppled  his  back 
again,  remembered  the  Derby  office-boy's  tendency 
to  brag,  and  made  the  amende  honorable.  He  even 
overdid  his  magnanimity  and  came  too  near  sub- 


HIS  EXAMINATION  199 

servience — so  lasting  is  the  influence  of  the  lessons 
of  youth. 

Crashaw  did  not  mention  that  in  the  interval  be 
tween  the  two  interviews  he  had  called  upon  Mr. 
Purvis  in  the  Square.  The  ex-mayor  had  refused 
to  commit  himself  to  any  course  of  action. 

But  Challis  forgot  the  rectory  and  all  that  it 
connoted  before  he  was  well  outside  the  rectory's 
front  door.  Challis  had  a  task  before  him  that  he 
regarded  with  the  utmost  distaste.  He  had  warmly 
championed  a  cause;  he  had  been  heated  by  the 
presentation  of  a  manifest  injustice  which  was  none 
the  less  tyrannical  because  it  was  ridiculous.  And 
now  he  realised  that  it  was  only  the  abstract  ques 
tion  which  had  aroused  his  enthusiastic  advocacy, 
and  he  shrank  from  the  interview  with  Victor  Stott 
— that  small,  deliberate,  intimidating  child. 

Henry  Challis,  the  savant,  the  man  of  repute  in 
letters,  the  respected  figure  in  the  larger  world; 
Challis,  the  proprietor  and  landlord;  Challis,  the 
power  among  known  men,  knew  that  he  would  have 
to  plead,  to  humble  himself,  to  be  prepared  for  a 
rebuff — worst  of  all,  to  acknowledge  the  justice  of 
taking  so  undignified  a  position.  Any  aristocrat 
may  stoop  with  dignity  when  he  condescends  of  his 
own  free  will;  but  there  are  few  who  can  submit 
gracefully  to  deserved  contempt. 

Challis  was  one  of  the  few.     He  had  many  ad- 


200  THE  WONDER 

mirable  qualities.  Nevertheless,  during  that  short 
motor  ride  from  Stoke  to  his  own  house,  he  resented 
the  indignity  he  anticipated,  resented  it  intensely — 
and  submitted. 


in 


He  was  allowed  no  respite.  Victor  Stott  was 
emerging  from  the  library  window  as  Challis  rolled 
up  to  the  hall  door.  It  was  one  of  Ellen  Mary's  days 
— she  stood  respectfully  in  the  background  while  her 
son  descended;  she  curtsied  to  Challis  as  he  came 
forward. 

He  hesitated  a  moment.  He  would  not  risk  insult 
in  the  presence  of  his  chauffeur  and  Mrs.  Stott.  He 
confronted  the  Wonder;  he  stood  before  him,  and 
over  him  like  a  cliff. 

"I  must  speak  to  you  for  a  moment  on  a  matter 
of  some  importance,"  said  Challis  to  the  little  figure 
below  him,  and  as  he  spoke  he  looked  over  the  child's 
head  at  the  child's  mother.  "It  is  a  matter  that 
concerns  your  own  welfare.  Will  you  come  into  the 
house  with  me  for  a  few  minutes?" 

Ellen  Mary  nodded,  and  Challis  understood.  He 
turned  and  led  the  way.  At  the  door,  however,  he 
stood  aside  and  spoke  again  to  Mrs.  Stott.  "Won't 
you  come  in  and  have  some  tea,  or  something?" 
he  asked. 


HIS  EXAMINATION  201 

"No,  sir,  thank  you,  sir/'  replied  Ellen  Mary; 
"I'll  just  wait  'ere  till  Vs  ready." 

"At  least  come  in  and  sit  down,"  said  Challis,  and 
she  came  in  and  sat  in  the  hall.  The  Wonder  had 
already  preceded  them  into  the  house.  He  had 
walked  into  the  morning-room — probably  because 
the  door  stood  open,  though  he  was  now  tall  enough 
to  reach  the  handles  of  the  Challis  Court  doors.  He 
stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room  when  Challis  entered. 

"Won't  -you  sit  down?"  said  Challis. 

The  Wonder  shook  his  head. 

"I  don't  know  if  you  are  aware,"  began  Challis, 
"that  there  is  a  system  of  education  in  England  at 
the  present  time,  which  requires  that  every  child 
should  attend  school  at  the  age  of  five  years,  unless 
the  parents  are  able  to  provide  their  children  with 
an  education  elsewhere." 

The  Wonder  nodded. 

Challis  inferred  that  he  need  proffer  no  further 
information  with  regard  to  the  Education  Act. 

"Now,  it  is  very  absurd,"  he  continued,  "and  I 
have,  myself,  pointed  out  the  absurdity;  but  there 
is  a  man  of  some  influence  in  this  neighbourhood 
who  insists  that  you  should  attend  the  elementary 
school."  He  paused,  but  the  Wonder  gave  no  sign. 

"I  have  argued  with  this  man,"  continued  Challis, 
"and  I  have  also  seen  another  member  of  the  Local 
Education  Authority — a  man  of  some  note  in  the 


202  THE  WONDER 

larger  world — and  it  seems  that  you  cannot  be 
exempted  unless  you  convince  the  Authority  that 
your  knowledge  is  such  that  to  give  you  a  Council 
school  education  would  be  the  most  absurd  farce." 

"Cannot  you  stand  in  loco  parentis?"  asked  the 
Wonder  suddenly,  in  his  still,  thin  voice. 

"You  mean,"  said  Challis,  startled  by  this  out 
burst,  "that  I  am  in  a  sense  providing  you  with  an 
education?  Quite  true;  but  there  is  Crashaw  to  deal 
with." 

"Inform  him,"  said  the  Wonder. 

Challis  sighed.  "I  have,"  he  said,  "but  he  can't 
understand."  And  then,  feeling  the  urgent  need  to 
explain  something  of  the  motives  that  govern  this 
little  world  of  ours — the  world  into  which  this 
strangely  logical  exception  had  been  born — Challis 
attempted  an  exposition. 

"I  know,"  he  said,  "that  these  things  must  seem 
to  you  utterly  absurd,  but  you  must  try  to  realise 
that  you  are  an  exception  to  the  world  about  you; 
that  Crashaw  or  I,  or,  indeed,  the  greatest  minds  of 
the  present  day,  are  not  ruled  by  the  fine  logic  which 
you  are  able  to  exercise.  We  are  children  compared 
to  you.  We  are  swayed  even  in  the  making  of  our 
laws  by  little  primitive  emotions  and  passions,  self- 
interests,  desires.  And  at  the  best  we  are  not  ca 
pable  of  ordering  our  lives  and  our  government  to 
those  just  ends  which  we  may  see,  some  of  us,  are 


HIS  EXAMINATION  203 

abstractly  right  and  fine.  We  are  at  the  mercy  of 
that  great  mass  of  the  people  who  have  not  yet  won 
to  an  intellectual  and  discriminating  judgment  of 
how  their  own  needs  may  best  be  served,  and  whose 
representatives  consider  the  interests  of  a  party,  a 
constituency,  and  especially  of  their  own  personal 
ambitions  and  welfare,  before  the  needs  of  humanity 
as  a  whole,  or  even  the  humanity  of  these  little 
islands. 

"Above  all,  we  are  divided  man  against  man.  We 
are  split  into  parties  and  factions,  by  greed  and 
jealousies,  petty  spites  and  self-seeking,  by  unintel- 
ligence,  by  education,  and  by  our  inability — a  mental 
inability — 'to  see  life  steadily  and  see  it  whole,'  and 
lastly,  perhaps  chiefly,  by  our  intense  egotisms,  both 
physical  and  intellectual. 

"Try  to  realise  this.  It  is  necessary,  because 
whatever  your  wisdom,  you  have  to  live  in  a  world 
of  comparative  ignorance,  a  world  which  cannot 
appreciate  you,  but  which  can  and  will  fall  back 
upon  the  compelling  power  of  the  savage — the  resort 
to  physical,  brute  force." 

The  Wonder  nodded.  "You  suggest ?"  he 

said. 

"Merely  that  you  should  consent  to  answer  cer 
tain  elementary  questions  which  the  members  of  the 
Local  Authority  will  put  to  you,"  replied  Challis. 


204  THE  WONDER 

"I  can  arrange  that  these  questions  be  asked  here — 
in  the  library.  Will  you  consent?" 

The  Wonder  nodded,  and  made  his  way  into  the 
hall,  without  another  word.  His  mother  rose  and 
opened  the  front  door  for  him. 

As  Challis  watched  the  curious  couple  go  down 
the  drive,  he  sighed  again,  perhaps  with  relief,  per 
haps  at  the  impotence  of  the  world  of  men. 


IV 

There  were  four  striking  figures  on  the  Education 
Committee  selected  by  the  Ailesworth  County 
Council. 

The  first  of  these  was  Sir  Deane  Elmer,  who  was 
also  chairman  of  the  Council  at  this  time.  The 
second  was  the  vice-chairman,  Enoch  Purvis,  the 
ex-mayor,  commonly,  if  incorrectly,  known  as 
"Mayor"  Purvis. 

The  third  was  Richard  Standing,  J.P.,  who  owned 
much  property  on  the  Quainton  side  of  the  town. 
He  was  a  bluff,  hearty  man,  devoted  to  sport  and 
agriculture ;  a  Conservative  by  birth  and  inclination, 
a  staunch  upholder  of  the  Church  and  the  Tariff 
Reform  movement. 

The  fourth  was  the  Rev.  Philip  Steven,  a  co-opted 
member  of  the  Committee,  head  master  of  the  Ailes 
worth  Grammar  School.  Steven  was  a  tall,  thin 


HIS  EXAMINATION  205 

man  with  bent  shoulders,  and  he  had  a  long,  thin 
face,  the  length  of  which  was  exaggerated  by  his 
square  brown  beard.  He  wore  gold-mounted  spec 
tacles  which,  owing  to  his  habit  of  dropping  his 
head,  always  needed  adjustment  whenever  he  looked 
up.  The  movement  of  lifting  his  head  and  raising 
his  hand  to  his  glasses  had  become  so  closely  asso 
ciated,  that  his  hand  went  up  even  when  there  was 
no  apparent  need  for  the  action.  Steven  spoke  of 
himself  as  a  Broad  Churchman,  and  in  his  speech  on 
prize-day  he  never  omitted  some  allusion  to  the  ne 
cessity  for  "marching"  or  "keeping  step"  with  the 
times.  But  Elmer  was  inclined  to  laugh  at  this 
assumption  of  modernity.  "Steven,"  he  said,  on  one 
occasion,  "marks  time  and  thinks  he  is  keeping  step. 
And  every  now  and  then  he  runs  a  little  to  catch 
up."  The  point  of  Elmer's  satire  lay  in  the  fact 
that  Steven  was  usually  to  be  seen  either  walking 
very  slowly,  head  down,  lost  in  abstraction;  or — 
when  aroused  to  a  sense  of  present  necessity — going 
with  long  strides  as  if  intent  on  catching  up  with 
the  times  without  further  delay.  Very  often,  too, 
he  might  be  seen  running  across  the  school  play 
ground,  his  hand  up  to  those  elusive  glasses  of  his. 
"There  goes  Mr.  Steven,  catching  up  with  the  times," 
had  become  an  accepted  phrase. 

There  were  other  members  of  the  Education  Com 
mittee,  notably  Mrs.  Philip  Steven,  but  they  were 


206  THE  WONDER 

subordinate.  If  those  four  striking  figures  were 
unanimous,  no  other  member  would  have  dreamed 
of  expressing  a  contrary  opinion.  But  up  to  this 
time  they  had  not  yet  been  agreed  upon  any  impor 
tant  line  of  action. 

This  four,  Challis  and  Crashaw  met  in  the  morn 
ing-room  of  Challis  Court  one  Thursday  afternoon 
in  November.  Elmer  had  brought  a  stenographer 
with  him  for  scientific  purposes. 

"Well,"  said  Challis,  when  they  were  all  assem 
bled.  "The — the  subject — I  mean,  Victor  Stott  is 
in  the  library.  Shall  we  ad j  ourn  ?"  Challis  had  not 
felt  so  nervous  since  the  morning  before  he  had  sat 
for  honours  in  the  Cambridge  Senate  House. 

In  the  library  they  found  a  small  child,  reading. 


He  did  not  look  up  when  the  procession  entered, 
nor  did  he  remove  his  cricket  cap.  He  was  in  his 
usual  place  at  the  centre  table. 

Challis  found  chairs  for  the  Committee,  and  the 
members  ranged  themselves  round  the  opposite  side 
of  the  table.  Curiously,  the  effect  produced  was  that 
of  a  class  brought  up  for  a  viva  voce  examination, 
and  when  the  Wonder  raised  his  eyes  and  glanced 
deliberately  down  the  line  of  his  judges,  this  effect 
was  heightened.  There  was  an  audible  fidgeting, 


HIS  EXAMINATION  207 

a  creak  of  chairs,  an  indication  of  small  embarrass 
ments. 

"Her — um!"  Deane  Elmer  cleared  his  throat 
with  noisy  vigour;  looked  at  the  Wonder,  met  his 
eyes  and  looked  hastily  away  again;  "Hm! — her — 
rum!"  he  repeated,  and  then  he  turned  to  Challis. 
"So  this  little  fellow  has  never  been  to  school?"  he 
said. 

Challis  frowned  heavily.  He  looked  exceedingly 
uncomfortable  and  unhappy.  He  was  conscious 
that  he  could  take  neither  side  in  this  controversy — 
that  he  was  in  sympathy  with  no  one  of  the  seven 
other  persons  who  were  seated  in  his  library. 

He  shook  his  head  impatiently  in  answer  to  Sir 
Deane  Elmer's  question,  and  the  chairman  turned 
to  the  Rev.  Philip  Steven,  who  was  gazing  intently 
at  the  pattern  of  the  carpet. 

"I  think,  Steven,"  said  Elmer,  "that  your  large 
experience  will  probably  prompt  you  to  a  more  effi 
cient  examination  than  we  could  conduct.  Will  you 
initiate  the  inquiry?" 

Steven  raised  his  head  slightly,  put  a  readjusting 
hand  up  to  his  glasses,  and  then  looked  sternly  at 
the  Wonder  over  the  top  of  them.  Even  the  sixth 
form  quailed  when  the  head  master  assumed  this 
expression,  but  the  small  child  at  the  table  was  gaz 
ing  out  of  the  window. 

Doubtless  Steven  was  slightly  embarrassed  by  the 


208  THE  WONDER 

detachment  of  the  examinee,  and  blundered.  "What 
is  the  square  root  of  226?"  he  asked — he  probably 
intended  to  say  225. 

"15-03329— to  five  places,"  replied  the  Wonder. 

Steven  started.  Neither  he  nor  any  other  mem 
ber  of  the  Committee  was  capable  of  checking  that 
answer  without  resort  to  pencil  and  paper. 

"Dear  me!"  ejaculated  Squire  Standing. 

Elmer  scratched  the  superabundance  of  his  purple 
jowl,  and  looked  at  Challis,  who  thrust  his  hands 
into  his  pockets  and  stared  at  the  ceiling. 

Crashaw  leaned  forward  and  clasped  his  hands 
together.  He  was  biding  his  time. 

"Mayor"  Purvis  alone  seemed  unmoved.  "What's 
that  book  he's  got  open  in  front  of  him?"  he  asked. 

"May  I  see?"  interposed  Challis  hurriedly,  and 
he  rose  from  his  chair,  picked  up  the  book  in  ques 
tion,  glanced  at  it  for  a  moment,  and  then  handed 
it  to  the  grocer.  The  book  was  Van  Vloten's  Dutch 
text  and  Latin  translation  of  Spinoza's  Short 
Treatise. 

The  grocer  turned  to  the  title-page.  "Ad — 
beany — dick — ti — de — Spy — nozer,"  he  read  aloud 
and  then:  "What's  it  all  about,  Mr.  Challis?"  he 
asked.  "German  or  something,  I  take  it?" 

"In  any  case  it  has  nothing  to  do  with  elementary 
arithmetic,"  replied  Challis  curtly,  "Mr.  Steven  will 
set  your  mind  at  ease  on  that  point." 


HIS  EXAMINATION  209 

"Certainly,  certainly,"  murmured  Steven. 

Grocer  Purvis  closed  the  book  carefully  and  re 
placed  it  on  the  desk.  "What  does  half  a  stone  o* 
loaf  sugar  at  two-three-farthings  come  to?"  he 
asked. 

The  Wonder  shook  his  head.  He  did  not  under 
stand  the  grocer's  phraseology. 

"What  is  seven  times  two  and  three  quarters?" 
translated  Chain's. 

"19-25,"  answered  the  Wonder. 

"What's  that  in  shillin's?"  asked  Purvis. 

"1  -60416." 

"Wrong!"  returned  the  grocer  triumphantly. 

"Er — excuse  me,  Mr.  Purvis,"  interposed  Steven, 
"I  think  not.  The — the — er — examinee  has  given 
the  correct  mathematical  answer  to  five  places  of 
decimals — that  is,  so  far  as  I  can  check  him  men- 
tally." 

"Well,  it  seems  to  me,"  persisted  the  grocer,  "as 
he's  gone  a  long  way  round  to  answer  a  simple  ques 
tion  what  any  fifth-standard  child  could  do  in  his 
head.  I'll  give  him  another." 

"Cast  it  in  another  form,"  put  in  the  chairman. 
"Give  it  as  a  multiplication  sum." 

Purvis  tucked  his  fingers  carefully  into  his  waist 
coat  pockets.  "I  put  the  question,  Mr.  Chairman," 
he  said,  "as  it'll  be  put  to  the  youngster  when  he 


210  THE  WONDER 

has  to  tot  up  a  bill.  That  seems  to  be  a  sound  and 
practical  form  for  such  questions  to  be  put  in." 

Challis  sighed  impatiently.  "I  thought  Mr.  Steven 
had  been  delegated  to  conduct  the  first  part  of  the 
examination,"  he  said.  "It  seems  to  me  that  we  are 
wasting  a  lot  of  time." 

Elmer  nodded.  "Will  you  go  on,  Mr.  Steven?" 
he  said. 

Challis  was  ashamed  for  his  compeers.  "What 
children  we  are,"  he  thought. 

Steven  got  to  work  again  with  various  arith 
metical  questions,  which  were  answered  instantly,  and 
then  he  made  a  sudden  leap  and  asked:  "What  is 
the  binomial  theorem?" 

"A  formula  for  writing  down  the  coefficient  of 
any  stated  term  in  the  expansion  of  any  stated  power 
of  a  given  binomial,"  replied  the  Wonder. 

Elmer  blew  out  his  cheeks  and  looked  at  Challis, 
but  met  the  gaze  of  Mr.  Steven,  who  adjusted  his 
glasses  and  said,  "I  am  satisfied  under  this  head." 

"It's  all  beyond  me,"  remarked  Squire  Standing 
frankly. 

"I  think,  Mr.  Chairman,  that  we've  had  enough 
theoretical  arithmetic,"  said  Purvis.  "There's  a 
few  practical  questions  I'd  like  to  put." 

"No  more  arithmetic,  then,"  assented  Elmer,  and 
Crashaw  exchanged  a  glance  of  understanding  with 
the  grocer. 


HIS  EXAMINATION  211 

"Now,  how  old  was  our  Lord  when  He  began  His 
ministry?"  asked  the  grocer. 

"Uncertain,"   replied   the  Wonder. 

Mr.  Purvis  smiled.  "Any  Sunday-school  child 
knows  that!"  he  said. 

"Of  course,  of  course,"  murmured  Crashaw. 

But  Steven  looked  uncomfortable.  "Are  you 
sure  you  understand  the  purport  of  the  answer,  Mr. 
Purvis?"  he  asked. 

"Can  there  be  any  doubt  about  it?"  replied  the 
grocer.  "I  asked  how  old  our  Lord  was  when  He 
began  His  ministry,  and  he" — he  made  an  indicative 
gesture  with  one  momentarily  released  hand  towards 
the  Wonder — "and  he  says  he's  'uncertain.' ' 

"No,  no,"  interposed  Challis  impatiently,  "he 
meant  that  the  answer  to  your  question  was  un 
certain." 

"How's  that?"  returned  the  grocer.  "I've  always 
understood ' 

"Quite,  quite,"  interrupted  Challis.  "But  what 
we  have  always  understood  does  not  always  corre 
spond  to  the  actual  fact." 

"What  did  you  intend  by  your  answer?"  put  in. 
Elmer  quickly,  addressing  the  Wonder. 

"The  evidence  rests  mainly  on  Luke's  Gospel," 
answered  the  Wonder,  "but  the  phrase  'dpxojuero? 
<5)o-«  eron»  TpiaKovTa'  is  vague — it  allows  latitude  in 
either  direction.  According  to  the  chronology  of 


212  THE  WONDER 

John's  Gospel  the  age  might  have  been  about 
thirty-two." 

"It  says  'thirty'  in  the  Bible,  and  that's  good 
enough  for  me,"  said  the  grocer,  and  Crashaw  mut 
tered  "Heresy,  heresy,"  in  an  audible  under  tone. 

"Sounds  very  like  blarsphemy  to  me,"  said  Purvis, 
"like  doubtin'  the  word  of  God.  I'm  for  sending  him 
to  school." 

Deane  Elmer  had  been  regarding  the  face  of  the 
small  abstracted  child  with  considerable  interest. 
He  put  aside  for  the  moment  the  grocer's  intimation 
of  his  voting  tendency. 

"How  many  elements  are  known  to  chemists?" 
asked  Elmer  of  the  examinee. 

"Eighty-one  well  characterised ;  others  have  been 
described,"  replied  the  Wonder. 

"Which  has  the  greatest  atomic  weight?"  asked 
Elmer. 

"Uranium." 

"And  that  weight  is?" 

"On  the  oxygen  basis  of  16—238  -5." 

"Extraordinary  powers  of  memory,"  muttered 
Elmer,  and  there  was  silence  for  a  moment,  a  silence 
broken  by  Squire  Standing,  who,  in  a  loud  voice, 
asked  suddenly  and  most  irrelevantly,  "What's  your 
opinion  of  Tariff  Reform?" 

"An  empirical  question  that  cannot  be  decided 
from  a  theoretical  basis,"  replied  the  Wonder. 


HIS  EXAMINATION  213 

Elmer  laughed  out,  a  great  shouting  guffaw. 
"Quite  right,  quite  right,"  he  said,  his  cheeks  shaking 
with  mirth.  "What  have  you  to  say  to  that,  Stand 
ing?" 

"I  say  that  Tariff  Reform's  the  only  way  to  save 
the  country,"  replied  Squire  Standing,  looking  very 
red  and  obstinate,  "and  if  this  Government ' 

Challis  rose  to  his  feet.  "Oh !  aren't  you  all  satis 
fied?"  he  said.  "Is  this  Committee  here  to  argue 
questions  of  present  politics?  What  more  evidence 
do  you  need?" 

"I'm  not  satisfied,"  put  in  Purvis  resolutely,  "nor 
is  the  Rev.  Mr.  Crashaw,  I  fancy." 

"He  has  no  vote,"  said  Challis.  "Elmer,  what 
do  you  say?" 

"I  think  we  may  safely  say  that  the  child  has 
been,  and  is  being,  provided  with  an  education  else 
where,  and  that  he  need  not  therefore  attend  the 
elementary  school,"  replied  Elmer,  still  chuckling. 

"On  a  point  of  order,  Mr.  Chairman,  is  that  what 
you  put  to  the  meeting?"  asked  Purvis. 

"This  is  quite  informal,"  replied  Elmer.  "Unless 
we  are  all  agreed,  the  question  must  be  put  to  the 
full  Committee." 

"Shall  we  argue  the  point  in  the  other  room?" 
suggested  Challis. 

"Certainly,  certainly,"  said  Elmer.  "We  can 
return,  if  necessary." 


THE  WONDER 

And  the  four  striking  figures  of  the  Education 
Committee  filed  out,  followed  by  Crashaw  and  the 
stenographer. 

Challis,  coming  last,  paused  at  the  door  and 
looked  back. 

The  Wonder  had  returned  to  his  study  of  Spinoza. 

Challis  waved  a  hand  to  the  unconscious  figure. 
"I  must  join  my  fellow-children,"  he  said  grimly, 
"or  they  will  be  quarrelling." 

VI 

But  when  he  joined  his  fellow-children,  Challis 
stood  at  the  window  of  the  morning-room,  attending 
little  to  the  buzz  of  voices  and  the  clatter  of  glasses 
which  marked  the  relief  from  the  restraint  of  the 
examination-room.  Even  the  stenographer  was 
talking;  he  had  joined  Crashaw  and  Purvis — a  lem 
onade  group ;  the  other  three  were  drinking  whisky. 
The  division,  however,  is  arbitrary,  and  in  no  way 
significant. 

Challis  caught  a  fragment  of  the  conversation  here 
and  there:  a  bull-roar  from  Elmer  or  Squire  Stand 
ing  ;  an  occasional  blatancy  from  Purvis ;  a  vibrant 
protest  from  Crashaw ;  a  hesitating  tenor  pronounce 
ment  from  Steven. 

"Extraordinary  powers  of  memory.  ...  It  isn't 
facts,  but  what  they  stand  for  that  I.  ...  Don't 


HIS  EXAMINATION  215 

know  his  Bible — that's  good  enough  for  me.  .  .  . 
Heresy,  heresy.  .  .  .  An  astounding  memory,  of 
course,  quite  astounding,  but " 

The  simple  exposition  of  each  man's  theme  was 
dogmatically  asserted,  and  through  it  all  Challis, 
standing  alone,  hardly  conscious  of  each  individual 
utterance,  was  still  conscious  that  the  spirits  of  those 
six  men  were  united  in  one  thing,  had  they  but 
known  it.  Each  was  endeavouring  to  circumscribe 
the  powers  of  the  child  they  had  just  left — each  was 
insistent  on  some  limitation  he  chose  to  regard  as 
vital. 

They  came  to  no  decision  that  afternoon.  The 
question  as  to  whether  the  Authority  should  prose 
cute  or  not  had  to  be  referred  to  the  Committee. 

At  the  last,  Crashaw  entered  his  protest  and  an 
nounced  once  more  that  he  would  fight  the  point  to 
the  bitter  end. 

Crashaw's  religious  hatred  was  not,  perhaps,  alto 
gether  free  from  a  sense  of  affronted  dignity,  but  it 
was  nevertheless  a  force  to  be  counted;  and  he  had 
that  obstinacy  of  the  bigot  which  has  in  the  past 
contributed  much  fire  and  food  to  the  pyre  of  mar 
tyrdom.  He  had,  too,  a  power  of  initiative  within 
certain  limits.  It  is  true  that  the  bird  on  a  free 
wing  could  avoid  him  -with  contemptuous  ease,  but 
along  his  own  path  he  was  a  terrifying  juggernaut. 


216  THE  WONDER 

Crashaw,  thus  circumscribed,  was  a  power,  a  moving 
force. 

But  now  he  was  seeking  to  crush,  not  some  para 
lysed  rabbit  on  the  road,  but  an  elusive  spirit  of 
swiftness  which  has  no  name,  but  may  be  figured  as 
the  genius  of  modernity.  The  thing  he  sought  to 
obliterate  ran  ahead  of  him  with  a  smiling  facility 
and  spat  rearwards  a  vaporous  jet  of  ridicule. 

Crashaw  might  crush  his  clerical  wideawake  over 
his  frowning  eyebrows,  arm  himself  with  a  slightly 
dilapidated  umbrella,  and  seek  with  long,  determined 
strides  the  members  of  the  Local  Education  Author 
ity,  but  far  ahead  of  him  had  run  an  intelligence 
that  represented  the  instructed  common  sense  of 
modernity. 

It  was  for  Crashaw  to  realise — as  he  never  could 
and  never  did  realise — that  he  was  no  longer  the 
dominant  force  of  progress ;  that  he  had  been  out 
stripped,  left  toiling  and  shouting  vain  words  on  a 
road  that  had  served  its  purpose,  and  though  it  still 
remained  and  was  used  as  a  means  of  travel,  was 
becoming  year  by  year  more  antiquated  and 
despised. 

Crashaw  toiled  to  the  end,  and  no  one  knows  how 
far  his  personal  purpose  and  spite  were  satisfied,  but 
he  could  never  impede  any  more  that  elusive  spirit 
of  swiftness ;  it  had  run  past  him. 


CHAPTER    XH 

HIS  INTERVIEW  WITH   HERE   GROSSMANN 


CRASHAW  must  have  suffered  greatly  just  at  that 
time;  and  the  anticipation  of  his  defeat  by  the  Com 
mittee  was  made  still  more  bitter  by  the  wonderful 
visit  of  Herr  Grossmann.  It  is  true  that  that  visit 
feebly  helped  Crashaw's  cause  at  the  moment  by  fur 
ther  enlisting  the  sympathies  and  strenuous  en 
deavour  of  the  Nonconformist  Purvis ;  but  no  effort 
of  the  ex-mayor  could  avail  to  upset  the  majority 
of  the  Local  Education  Authority  and  the  grocer, 
himself,  was  not  a  person  acceptable  to  Crashaw. 
The  two  men  were  so  nearly  allied  by  their  manner 
of  thought  and  social  origin;  and  Crashaw  instinc 
tively  flaunted  the  splendid  throne  of  his  holy  office, 
whenever  he  and  Purvis  were  together.  Purvis  was 
what  the  rector  might  have  described  as  an  ignorant 
man.  It  is  a  fact  that,  until  Crashaw  very  fully  and 
inaccurately  informed  him,  he  had  never  even  heard 
of  Hugo  Grossmann. 

In  that  conversation  between  Crashaw  and  Purvis, 
217 


218  THE  WONDER 

the  celebrated  German  Professor  figured  as  the  veri 
table  Anti-Christ,  the  Devil's  personal  representative 
on  earth;  but  Crashaw  was  not  a  safe  authority  on 
Science  and  Philosophy. 

Herr  Grossmann's  world-wide  reputation  was 
certainly  not  won  in  the  field  of  religious  contro 
versy.  He  had  not  at  that  time  reached  the  pin 
nacle  of  achievement  which  placed  him  so  high  above 
his  brilliant  contemporaries,  and  now  presents  him 
as  the  unique  figure  and  representative  of  twentieth 
century  science.  But  his  very  considerable  contri 
butions  to  knowledge  had  drawn  the  attention  of 
Europe  for  ten  years,  and  he  was  already  regarded 
by  his  fellow-scientists  with  that  mixture  of  con 
tempt  and  jealousy  which  inevitably  precedes  the 
world's  acceptance  of  its  greatest  men. 

Sir  Deane  Elmer,  for  example,  was  a  generous 
and  kindly  man;  he  had  never  been  involved  in  any 
controversy  with  the  professional  scientists  whose 
ground  he  continually  encroached  upon,  and  yet  he 
could  not  hear  the  name  of  Grossmann  without 
frowning.  Grossmann  had  the  German  vice  of  thor 
oughness.  He  took  up  a  subject  and  exhausted  it, 
as  far  as  is  possible  within  the  limits  of  our  present 
knowledge ;  and  his  monograph  on  Heredity  had 
demonstrated  with  a  detestable  logic  that  much  of 
Elmer's  treatise  on  Eugenics  was  based  on  evidence 
that  must  be  viewed  with  the  gravest  suspicion.  Not 


HIS  INTERVIEW  WITH  GROSSMANN     219 

that  Grossmann  had  directly  attacked  that  treatise ; 
he  had  made  no  kind  of  reference  to  it  in  his  own 
book ;  but  his  irrefutable  statements  had  been  quoted 
by  every  reviewer  of  "Eugenics"  who  chanced  to  have 
come  across  the  English  translation  of  "Heredity 
and  Human  Development,"  to  the  confounding  of 
Elmer's  somewhat  too  optimistic  prophecies  concern 
ing  the  possibility  of  breeding  a  race  that  should 
approximate  to  a  physical  and  intellectual  per 
fection. 

And  it  happened  that  Elmer  met  Grossmann  at 
an  informal  gathering  of  members  of  the  Royal  So 
ciety  a  few  days  after  the  examination  of  the  Won 
der  in  the  Challis  Court  Library.  Herr  Grossmann 
was  delivering  an  impromptu  lecture  on  the  limits  of 
variation  from  the  normal  type,  when  Elmer  came  in 
and  joined  the  group  of  the  great  Professor's  lis 
teners,  every  one  of  whom  was  seeking  some  con 
clusive  argument  to  confute  their  guest's  overwhelm 
ingly  accurate  collation  of  facts. 

Elmer  realised  instantly  that  his  opportunity  had 
come  at  last.  He  listened  patiently  for  a  few  min 
utes  to  the  flow  of  the  German's  argument,  and  then 
broke  in  with  a  loud  exclamation  of  dissent.  All  the 
learned  members  of  the  Society  turned  to  him  at 
once,  with  a  movement  of  profound  relief  and  ex 
pectation. 


220  THE  WONDER 

"You  said  what?"  asked  Grossmann  with  a  frown 
of  great  annoyance. 

Elmer  thrust  out  his  lower  lip  and  looked  at  his 
antagonist  with  the  expression  of  a  man  seeking  a 
vital  spot  for  the  coup  de  grace. 

"I  said,  Herr  Professor,"  Elmer  returned,  "that 
there  are  exceptions  which  confound  your  argu 
ment." 

"For  example?"  Grossmann  said,  putting  his 
hands  behind  him  and  gently  nodding  his  head  like  a 
tolerant  schoolmaster  awaiting  the  inevitable  con 
fusion  of  the  too  intrepid  scholar. 

"Christian  Heinecken?"  suggested  Elmer. 

"Ah!  You  have  not  then  read  my  brochure  on 
certain  abnormalities  reported  in  history?"  Gross 
mann  said,  and  continued,  "Mr.  Aylmer,  is  it  not? 
To  whom  I  am  speaking?  Yes?  We  have  met,  I  be 
lieve,  once  in  Leipzig.  I  thought  so.  But  in  my 
brochure,  Mr.  Aylmer,  I  have  examined  the  Heinec 
ken  case  and  shown  my  reasons  to  regard  it  as  not  so 
departing  from  the  normal." 

Elmer  shook  his  head.  "Your  reasons  are  not 
valid,  Herr  Professor,"  he  said  and  held  up  a  cor 
pulent  forefinger  to  enforce  Grossmann's  further 
attention.  "They  seemed  convincing  at  the  time,  I 
admit,  but  this  new  prodigy  completely  upsets  your 
case." 

"Eh!      What    is    that?      What    new    prodigy?" 


HIS  INTERVIEW  WITH  GROSSMANN 

sneered  Grossmann ;  and  two  or  three  savants  among 
the  little  ring  of  listeners,  although  they  had  not 
that  perfect  confidence  in  Elmer  which  would  have 
put  them  at  ease,  nodded  gravely  as  if  they  were 
aware  of  the  validity  of  his  instance. 

Elmer  blew  out  his  cheeks  and  raised  his  eye 
brows.  "Ah!  you  haven't  heard  of  him!"  he  re 
marked  with  a  rather  fleshy  surprise.  "Victor 
Stott,  you  know,  son  of  a  professional  cricketer, 
protege  of  Henry  Challis,  the  anthropologist.  Oh! 
you  ought  to  investigate  that  case,  Herr  Professor. 
It  is  most  remarkable,  most  remarkable." 

"Ach!  What  form  does  the  abnormality  take?" 
asked  Grossmann  suspiciously,  and  his  tone  made,  it 
clear  that  he  had  little  confidence  in  the  value  of 
any  report  made  to  him  by  such  an  observer  as  Sir 
Deane  Elmer. 

"I  can't  pretend  to  give  you  anything  like  a  full 
account  of  it,"  Elmer  returned.  "I  have  only  seen 
the  child  once.  But,  honestly,  Herr  Professor,  you 
cannot  use  that  brochure  of  yours  in  any  future 
argument  until  you  have  investigated  this  case  of 
young  Stott.  It  confutes  you." 

"I  can  see  him,  then?"  Grossmann  asked,  frown 
ing.  In  that  company  he  could  not  afford  to  de 
cline  the  challenge  that  had  been  thrown  down. 
There  were,  at  least,  five  men  present  who  would, 
he  believed,  immediately  conduct  the  examination  on 


222  THE  WONDER 

their  own  account,  should  he  refuse  the  opportunity ; 
men  who  would  not  fail  to  use  their  material  for  the 
demolition  of  that  pamphlet  on  the  type  of  abnor 
mality,  more  particularly  represented  by  the  amaz 
ing  precocity  of  Christian  Heinecken. 

To  the  layman  such  an  attack  may  seem  a  small 
matter,  and  likely  to  have  little  effect  on  such  a 
reputation  as  that  already  won  by  Hugo  Gross- 
mann;  and  it  should  be  explained  that  in  the  Pro 
fessor's  great  work  on  "Heredity  and  Human  De 
velopment,"  an  essential  argument  was  based  on  the 
absence  of  any  considerable  progressive  variation 
from  the  normal.  Indeed  it  was  from  this  premise 
that  he  developed  the  celebrated  "variation"  theory 
which  is,  now,  generally  admitted  to  have  compro 
mised  the  whole  principle  of  "Natural  Selection" 
while  it  has  given  a  wonderful  impetus  to  all  recent 
investigations  and  experiments  on  the  lines  first  indi 
cated  by  Mendel. 

"I  can  see  him,  then?"  asked  Grossmann,  with 
the  faintly  annoyed  air  of  one  who  is  compelled  by 
circumstances  to  undertake  a  futile  task. 

"Certainly,  I  will  arrange  an  interview  for  you," 
Elmer  replied,  and  went  on  to  give  an  account  of 
his  own  experience,  an  account  that  lost  nothing  in 
the  telling. 

Elmer  created  a  mild  sensation  in  the  rooms  of 
the  Royal  Society  that  evening. 


HIS  INTERVIEW  WITH  GROSSMANN 


He  found  Challis  at  his  house  In  Eaton  Square 
the  next  morning,  but  it  became  evident  from  the 
outset  that  the  plan  of  confounding  Grossmann  did 
not  appeal  to  the  magnate  of  Stoke  Underbill. 
Challis  frowned  and  prevaricated.  "It's  a  thousand 
to  one,  the  child  won't  condescend  to  answer,"  was 
his  chief  evasion. 

Elmer  was  not  to  be  frustrated  in  the  develop 
ment  of  his  scheme  by  any  such  trivial  excuse  as 
that.  He  began  to  display  a  considerable  annoy 
ance  at  last. 

"Oh !  nonsense ;  nonsense,  Challis,"  he  said.  "You 
make  altogether  too  much  fuss  about  this  prodigy  of 
yours." 

"Not  mine,"  Challis  interrupted.  "Take  him  over 
yourself,  Elmer.  Bring  him  out.  Exhibit  him.  I 
make  you  a  gift  of  all  my  interest  in  him." 

Elmer  looked  thoughtful  for  a  moment,  as  if  he 
were  seriously  considering  that  proposition,  and  then 
he  said,  "I  recognise  that  there  are — difficulties.  The 
child  seems — er — to  have  a  queer,  morose  temper, 
doesn't  he?" 

Challis  shook  his  head.     "It  isn't  that,"  he  said. 

Elmer  scratched  his  cheek.  "I  understand,"  he 
began,  and  then  broke  off  and  went  on,  "I'm  putting 
this  as  a  personal  favour,  Challis;  but  it  is  more 


THE  WONDER 

than  that.  You  know  my  theories  with  regard  to 
the  future  of  the  race.  I  have  a  steady  faith  in  our 
enormous  potentialities  for  real  progress.  But  it 
must  be  organised,  and  Grossmann  is  just  now 
standing  in  our  way.  That  stubborn,  materialism 
of  his  has  infected  many  fine  intelligences;  and  I 
would  make  very  great  sacrifices  in  order  to  clear 
this  great  and  terrible  obstacle  out  of  the  way." 

"And  you  believe  that  this  interview  .  .  ."  inter 
rupted  Challis. 

"I  do,  indeed,"  Elmer  said.  "It  will  destroy  one 
of  Grossmann's  most  vital  premisses.  This  prodigy 
of  yours — he  is  unquestionably  a  prodigy — demon 
strates  the  fact  of  an  immense  progressive  variation. 
Once  that  is  conceded,  the  main  argument  of  Gross 
mann's  'Heredity'  is  invalidated.  We  shall  have 
knocked  away  the  keystone  of  his  mechanistic  theory 
of  evolution.  .  .  ." 

"But  suppose  that  the  boy  refuses.   .  .  ." 

"He  did  not  refuse  to  see  us." 

"That  was  to  save  himself  from  further  trouble." 

"But  isn't  he  susceptible  to  argument?" 

"Not  the  kind  of  argument  you  have  been  using 
to  me,"  Challis  said  gravely. 

Elmer  blew  like  a  porpoise;  looked  very  thought 
ful  for  a  moment,  and  then  said: 

"You  could  represent  Grossmann  as  the  final  court 


HIS  INTERVIEW  WITH  GROSSMANN     225 

of    appeal — the    High   Lord    Muck-a-muck    of   the 
L.E.A." 

"I  should  have  to  do  something  of  the  sort," 
Challis  admitted,  and  continued  with  a  spurt  of 
temper.  "But  understand,  Elmer,  I  don't  do  it 
again ;  no,  not  to  save  the  reputation  of  the  Royal 
Society." 

ra 

Unhappily,  no  record  exists  of  the  conversation 
between  the  Wonder  and  Herr  Grossmann. 

The  Professor  seems  at  the  last  moment  to  have 
had  some  misgiving  as  to  the  nature  of  the  inter 
view  that  was  before  him,  and  refused  to  have  a 
witness  to  the  proceedings. 

Challis  made  the  introduction,  and  he  says  that 
the  Wonder  regarded  Grossmann  with  perhaps 
rather  more  attention  than  he  commonly  conceded 
to  strangers ;  and  that  the  Professor  exhibited  the 
usual  signs  of  embarrassment. 

Altogether,  Grossmann  was  in  the  library  for 
about  half  an  hour,  and  he  displayed  no  sign  of  per 
turbation  when  he  rejoined  Challis  and  Elmer  in 
the  breakfast-room.  Indeed,  only  one  fact  of  any 
significance  emerges  to  throw  suspicion  on  Gross- 
mann's  attitude  during  the  progress  of  that  secluded 
half-hour  with  the  greatest  intellect  of  all  time — 
the  Professor's  spectacles  had  been  broken. 


THE  WONDER 

He  spoke  of  the  accident  with  a  casual  air  when 
he  was  in  the  breakfast-room,  but  Challis  remarked 
a  slight  flush  on  the  great  scientist's  face  as  he  re 
ferred,  perhaps  a  trifle  too  ostentatiously,  to  the 
incident.  And  although  it  is  worthless  as  evidence, 
there  is  something  rather  suspicious  in  Challis's  dis 
covery  of  finely  powdered  glass  in  his  library — a 
mere  pinch  on  the  parquet  near  the  further  window 
of  the  big  room,  several  feet  away  from  the  table 
at  which  the  Wonder  habitually  sat.  Challis  would 
never  have  noticed  the  glass,  had  not  one  larger 
atom  that  had  escaped  pulverisation,  caught  the 
light  from  the  window  and  drawn  his  attention. 

But  even  this  find  is  in  no  way  conclusive.  The 
Professor  may  quite  well  have  walked  over  to  the 
window,  taken  off  his  spectacles  to  wipe  them  and 
dropped  them  as  he,  himself,  explained.  While  the 
crushing  of  some  fragment  of  one  of  the  lenses  was 
probably  due  to  the  chance  of  his  stepping  upon  it, 
as  he  turned  on  his  heel  to  continue  the  momentarily 
interrupted  conversation.  It  is  hard  to  believe  that 
so  great  a  man  as  Grossmann  could  have  been  con 
vulsed  by  a  petty  rage  that  found  expression  in 
some  act  of  wanton  destruction. 

His  own  brief  account  of  the  interview  accords 
very  well  with  the  single  reference  to  the  Wonder 
which  exists  in  the  literature  of  the  world.  This 
reference  is  a  footnote  to  a  second  edition  of  Gross- 


HIS  INTERVIEW  WITH  GROSSMANN     227 

mann's  brochure  entitled  "An  Explanation  of  Cer 
tain  Intellectual  Abnormalities  reported  in  History" 
("Eine  Erklarung  gewisser  Intellektueller  geschicht- 
lich  iiberlieferter  Anormalen  Erscheinungen").  This 
footnote  comes  at  the  end  of  Grossmann's  masterly 
analysis  of  the  Heinecken  case  and  reads:  "I  re 
cently  examined  a  similar  case  of  abnormality  in 
England,  but  found  that  it  presented  no  such  marked 
divergence  from  the  type  as  would  demand  serious 
investigation." 

And  in  his  brief  account  of  the  interview  rendered 
to  Challis  and  Elmer,  Herr  Grossmann,  in  effect,  did 
no  more  than  draft  that  footnote. 


IV 

It  must  remain  uncertain,  now,  whether  or  not 
Elmer  would  have  persisted  in  his  endeavour  to  ex 
ploit  the  Wonder  to  the  confounding  of  Grossmann, 
despite  Challis's  explicit  statement  that  he  would 
do  no  more,  not  even  if  it  were  to  save  the  reputa 
tion  of  the  Royal  Society.  Elmer  certainly  had  the 
virtue  of  persistence  and  might  have  made  the  at 
tempt.  But  in  one  of  his  rare  moments  of  articulate 
speech,  the  Wonder  decided  the  fate  of  that  threat 
ened  controversy  beyond  the  possibility  of  appeal. 

He  spoke  to  Challis  that  same  afternoon.  He  put 
up  his  tiny  hand  to  command  attention  and  made 


228  THE  WONDER 

the  one  clear  statement  on  record  of  his  own  interests 
and  ambitions  in  the  world. 

Challis,  turning  from  his  discovery  of  the  Profes 
sor's  crushed  glasses,  listened  in  silence. 

"This  Grossmann,"  the  Wonder  said,  "was  not 
concerned  in  my  exemption?" 

Challis  shook  his  head.  "He  is  the  last,"  the  Won 
der  concluded  with  a  fine  brevity.  "You  and  your 
kind  have  no  interest  in  truth." 

That  last  statement  may  have  had  a  double  in 
tention.  It  is  obvious  from  the  Wonder's  prelimi 
nary  question, — which  had,  indeed,  also  the  quality 
of  an  assertion, — how  plainly  he  had  recognised  that 
Grossmann  had  been  introduced  under  false  pre 
tences.  But,  it  is  permissible  to  infer  that  the  pro 
nouncement  went  deeper  than  that.  The  Wonder's 
logic  penetrated  far  into  the  mysteries  of  life  and 
he  may  have  seen  that  Grossmann's  attitude  was 
warped  by  the  human  limitations  of  his  ambition  to 
shine  as  a  great  exponent  of  science;  that  he  dared 
not  follow  up  a  line  of  research  which  might  end  in 
the  invalidation  of  his  great  theory  of  heredity. 

Victor,  Stott  had  once  before  expounded  his  phil 
osophy  and  Challis,  on  that  occasion,  had  delib 
erately  refused  to  listen.  And  we  may  guess  that 
Grossmann,  also,  might  have  received  some  great 
illumination,  had  he  chosen  to  pay  deference  to  a 
mind  so  infinitely  greater  than  his  own. 


CHAPTER    XIII 

FUGITIVE 

MEANWHILE  a  child  of  five — all  unconscious  that  his 
quiet  refusal  to  participate  in  the  making  and  break 
ing  of  reputations  was  temporarily  a  matter  of  con 
siderable  annoyance  to  a  Fellow  of  the  Royal  Society 
— ran  through  a  well-kept  index  of  the  books  in  the 
library  of  Challis  Court — an  index  written  clearly 
on  cards  that  occupied  a  great  nest  of  accessible 
drawers ;  two  cards  with  a  full  description  to  each 
book,  alphabetically  arranged,  one  card  under  the 
title  of  the  work  and  one  under  the  author's  name. 

The  child  made  no  notes  as  he  studied — he  never 
wrote  a  single  line  in  all  his  life ;  but  when  a  drawer 
of  that  delightful  index  had  been  searched,  he  would 
walk  here  and  there  among  the  three  rooms  at  his 
disposal,  and  by  the  aid  of  the  flight  of  framed  steps 
that  ran  smoothly  on  rubber-tyred  wheels,  he  would 
take  down  now  and  again  some  book  or  another 
until,  returning  to  the  table  at  last  to  read,  he  sat 
in  an  enceinte  of  piled  volumes  that  had  been  col 
lected  round  him. 

Sometimes  he  read  a  book  from  beginning  to  end, 
229 


230  THE  WONDER 

more  often  he  glanced  through  it,  turning  a  dozen 
pages  at  a  time,  and  then  pushed  it  on  one  side  with 
a  gesture  displaying  the  contempt  that  was  not 
shown  by  any  change  of  expression. 

On  many  afternoons  the  sombrely  clad  figure  of  a 
tall,  gaunt  woman  would  stand  at  the  open  casement 
of  a  window  in  the  larger  room,  and  keep  a  mystic 
vigil  that  sometimes  lasted  for  hours.  She  kept  her 
gaze  fixed  on  that  strange  little  figure  whenever  it 
roved  up  and  down  the  suite  of  rooms  or  clambered 
the  pyramid  of  brown  steps  that  might  have  made 
such  a  glorious  plaything  for  any  other  child.  And 
even  when  her  son  was  hidden  behind  the  wall  of 
volumes  he  had  built,  the  woman  would  still  stare 
in  his  direction,  but  then  her  eyes  seemed  to  look 
inwards ;  at  such  times  she  appeared  to  be  wrapped 
in  an  introspective  devotion. 

Very  rarely,  the  heavy-shouldered  figure  of  a  man 
would  come  to  the  doorway  of  the  larger  room,  and 
also  keep  a  silent  vigil — a  man  who  would  stand  for 
some  minutes  with  thoughtful  eyes  and  bent  brows 
and  then  sigh,  shake  his  head  and  move  away,  gently 
closing  the  door  behind  him. 

There  were  few  other  interruptions  to  the  silence 
of  that  chapel-like  library.  Half  a  dozen  times  in 
the  first  few  months  a  fair-haired,  rather  supercilious 
young  man  came  and  fetched  away  a  few  volumes; 
but  even  he  evidenced  an  inclination  to  walk  on 


FUGITIVE 

tip-toe,  a  tendency  that  mastered  him  whenever 
he  forgot  for  a  moment  his  self-imposed  role  of 
scorn.  .  .  . 

Outside,  over  the  swelling  undulations  of  rich 
grass  the  sheep  came  back  with  close-cropped,  un 
gainly  bodies  to  a  land  that  was  yellow  with  butter 
cups.  But  when  one  looked  again,  their  wool  hung 
about  them,  and  they  were  snatching  at  short  turf 
that  was  covered  at  the  wood-side  by  a  sprinkle  of 
brown  leaves.  Then  the  sheep  have  gone,  and  the 
wood  is  black  with  February  rain.  And,  again,  the 
unfolding  of  the  year  is  about  us;  a  thickening  of 
high  twigs  in  the  wood,  a  glint  of  green  on  the  black 
thorn.  .  .  . 

Nearly  three  cycles  of  death  and  birth  have  run 
their  course,  and  then  the  strange  little  figure  comes 
no  more  to  the  library  at  Chain's  Court. 


PART  THREE 

MY  ASSOCIATION 
WITH  THE  WONDER 


PART    THREE 

MY  ASSOCIATION  WITH  THE  WONDER 

CHAPTER    XIV 

HOW   I   WENT   TO    PYM   TO   WEITE   A   BOOK 


THE  circumstance  that  had  intrigued  me  for  so  long 
was  determined  with  an  abruptness  only  less  re 
markable  than  the  surprise  of  the  onset.  Two  deaths 
within  six  months  brought  to  me,  the  first,  a  com 
petence,  the  second,  release  from  gall  and  bitterness. 
For  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  was  a  free  man.  At 
forty  one  can  still  look  forward,  and  I  put  the  past 
behind  me  and  made  plans  for  the  future.  There 
was  that  book  of  mine  still  waiting  to  be  written. 

It  was  wonderful  how  the  detail  of  it  all  came 
back  to  me — the  plan  of  it,  the  thread  of  develop 
ment,  even  the  very  phrases  that  I  had  toyed  with. 
The  thought  of  the  book  brought  back  a  train  of 
associations.  There  was  a  phrase  I  had  coined  as 
I  had  walked  out  from  Ailesworth  to  Stoke-Under- 

235 


236  THE  WONDER 

hill;  a  chapter  I  had  roughed  out  the  day  I  went  to 
see  Ginger  Stott  at  Pym.  It  seemed  to  me  that  the 
whole  conception  of  the  book  was  associated  in  some 
way  with  that  neighbourhood.  I  remembered  at  last 
that  I  had  first  thought  of  writing  it  after  my  return 
from  America,  on  the  day  that  I  had  had  that  curious 
experience  with  the  child  in  the  train.  It  occurred  to 
me  that  by  a  reversal  of  the  process,  I  might  regain 
many  more  of  my  original  thoughts ;  that  by  going 
to  live,  temporarily  perhaps,  in  the  neighbour 
hood  of  Ailesworth,  I  might  revive  other  associa 
tions. 

The  picture  of  Pym  presented  itself  to  me  very 
clearly.  I  remembered  that  I  had  once  thought 
that  Pym  was  a  place  to  which  I  might  retire  one 
day  in  order  to  write  the  things  I  wished  to  write. 
I  decided  to  make  the  dream  a  reality,  and  I  wrote 
to  Mrs.  Berridge  at  the  Wood  Farm,  asking  her  if 
she  could  let  me  have  her  rooms  for  the  spring, 
summer,  and  autumn. 


I  was  all  aglow  with  excitement  on  the  morning 
that  I  set  out  for  the  Hampden  Hills.  This  was 
change,  I  thought,  freedom,  adventure.  This  was 
the  beginning  of  life,  my  real  entry  into  the  joy  of 
living. 


I  GO  TO  PYM  237 

The  world  was  alight  with  the  fire  of  growth. 
May  had  come  with  a  clear  sky  and  a  torrent  of 
green  was  flowing  over  field,  hedge,  and  wood.  I 
remember  that  I  thanked  "whatever  gods  there  be," 
that  one  could  live  so  richly  in  the  enjoyment  of 
these  things. 

m 

Farmer  Bates  met  me  at  Great  Hittenden  Station. 
His  was  the  only  available  horse  and  cart  at  Pym, 
for  the  Berridges  were  in  a  very  small  way,  and  it  is 
doubtful  if  they  could  have  made  both  ends  meet  if 
Mrs.  Berridge  had  not  done  so  well  by  letting  her 
two  spare  rooms. 

I  have  a  great  admiration  for  Farmer  Bates  and 
Mrs.  Berridge.  I  regret  intensely  that  they  should 
both  have  been  unhappily  married.  If  they  had 
married  each  other  they  would  undoubtedly  have 
made  a  success  of  life. 

Bates  was  a  Cockney  by  birth,  but  always  he  had 
had  an  ambition  to  take  a  farm,  and  after  twenty 
years  of  work  as  a  skilled  mechanic  he  had  thrown 
up  a  well-paid  job,  and  dared  the  uncertainties  which 
beset  the  English  farmer.  That  venture  was  a  con 
stant  bone  of  strife  between  him  and  his  wife.  Mrs. 
Bates  preferred  the  town.  It  has  always  seemed 
to  me  that  there  was  something  fine  about  Bates  and 
his  love  for  the  land. 


238  THE  WONDER 

"Good  growing  weather,  Mr.  Bates,"  I  said,  as  I 
climbed  up  into  the  cart. 

"Shouldn't  be  sorry  to  see  some  more  rain,"  replied 
Bates,  and  damped  my  ardour  for  a  moment. 

Just  before  we  turned  into  the  lane  that  leads  up 
the  long  hill  to  Pym,  we  passed  a  ramshackle  cart, 
piled  up  with  a  curious  miscellany  of  ruinous  fur 
niture.  A  man  was  driving,  and  beside  him  sat  a 
slatternly  woman  and  a  repulsive-looking  boy  of  ten 
or  twelve  years  old,  with  a  great  swollen  head  and 
an  open,  slobbering  mouth. 

I  was  startled.  I  jumped  to  the  conclusion  that 
this  was  the  child  I  had  seen  in  the  train,  the  son  of 
Ginger  Stott. 

As  we  slowed  down  to  the  ascent  of  the  long  hill, 
I  said  to  Bates:  "Is  that  Stott's  boy?" 

Bates  looked  at  me  curiously.  "Why,  no,"  he. 
said.  "Them's  the  'Arrisons.  'Arrison's  dead  now; 
he  was  a  wrong  'un,  couldn't  make  a  job  of  it,  nohow. 
They  used  to  live  'ere,  five  or  six  year  ago,  and  now 
'er  'usband's  dead,  Mrs.  'Arrison's  coming  back  with 
the  boy  to  live.  Worse  luck.  We  thought  we  was 
shut  of  'em." 

"Oh !"  I  said.    "The  boy's  an  idiot,  I  suppose." 

"  'Orrible,"  replied  Bates,  shaking  his  head,  "  'or- 
rible;  can't  speak  nor  nothing;  goes  about  bleating 
and  baa-ing  like  an  old  sheep." 

I  looked  round,  but  the  ramshackle  cart  was  hid- 


I  GO  TO  PYM  239 

den  by  the  turn  of  the  road.  "Does  Stott  still  live 
at  Pym?"  I  asked. 

"Not  Ginger,"  replied  Bates.  "He  lives  at  Ailes- 
worth.  Mrs.  Stott  and  'er  son  lives  here." 

"The  boy's  still  alive  then?"  I  asked. 

"Yes,"  said  Bates. 

"Intelligent  child?"  I  asked. 

"They  say,"  replied  Bates.  "Book-learnin'  and 
such.  They  say  'e's  read  every  book  in  Mr.  Challis's 
librairy." 

"Does  he  go  to  school?" 

"No.  They  let  'im  off.  Leastways  Mr.  Challis 
did.  They  say  the  Reverend  Crashaw,  down  at 
Stoke,  was  fair  put  out  about  it." 

I  thought  that  Bates  emphasised  the  "on  dit" 
nature  of  his  information  rather  markedly.  "What 
do  you  think  of  him?"  I  asked. 

"Me?"  said  Bates.  "I  don't  worry  my  'ead  about 
him.  I've  got  too  much  to  do."  And  he  went  off 
into  technicalities  concerning  the  abundance  of 
charlock  on  the  arable  land  of  Pym.  He  called  it 
"garlic."  I  saw  that  it  was  typical  of  Bates  that 
he  should  have  too  much  to  do.  I  reflected  that  his 
was  the  calling  which  begot  civilisation. 


240  THE  WONDER 

IV 

The  best  and  surest  route  from  Pym  to  the  Wood 
Farm  is,  appropriately,  by  way  of  the  wood;  but 
in  wet  weather  the  alternative  of  various  cart  tracks 
that  wind  among  the  bracken  and  shrub  of  the  Com 
mon,  is  preferable  in  many  ways.  May  had  been 
very  dry  that  year,  however,  and  Farmer  Bates 
chose  the  wood.  The  leaves  were  still  light  on  the 
beeches.  I  remember  that  as  I  tried  to  pierce  the 
vista  of  stems  that  dipped  over  the  steep  fall  of 
the  hill,  I  promised  myself  many  a  romantic  explora 
tion  of  the  unknown  mysteries  beyond. 

Everything  was  so  bright  that  afternoon  that 
nothing,  I  believe,  could  have  depressed  me.  When 
I  had  reached  the  farm  and  looked  round  the  low, 
dark  room  with  its  one  window,  a  foot  from  the 
ground  and  two  from  the  ceiling,  I  only  thought  that 
I  should  be  out-of-doors  all  the  time.  It  amused 
me  that  I  could  touch  the  ceiling  with  my  head  by 
standing  on  tiptoe,  and  I  laughed  at  the  framed 
"presentation  plates"  from  old  Christmas  numbers 
on  the  walls.  These  things  are  merely  curious  when 
the  sun  is  shining  and  it  is  high  May,  and  one  is 
free  to  do  the  desired  work  after  twenty  years  in  a 
galley. 


I  GO  TO  PYM 


At  a  quarter  to  eight  that  evening  I  saw  the  sun 
set  behind  the  hills.  As  I  wandered  reflectively 
down  the  lane  that  goes  towards  Challis  Court,  a 
blackbird  was  singing  ecstatically  in  a  high  elm; 
here  and  there  a  rabbit  popped  out  and  sat  up,  the 
picture  of  precocious  curiosity.  Nature  seemed  to 
be  standing  in  her  doorway  for  a  careless  half-hour's 
gossip,  before  putting  up  the  shutters  to  bar  the 
robbers  who  would  soon  be  about  their  work  of  the 
night. 

It  was  still  quite  light  as  I  strolled  back  over  the 
Common,  and  I  chose  a  path  that  took  me  through 
a  little  spinney  of  ash,  oak,  and  beech,  treading  care 
fully  to  avoid  crushing  the  tender  crosiers  of  bracken 
that  were  just  beginning  to  break  their  way  through 
the  soil. 

As  I  emerged  from  the  little  clump  of  wood,  I  saw 
two  figures  going  away  from  me  in  the  direction  of 
Pym. 

One  was  that  of  a  boy  wearing  a  cricket-cap;  he 
was  walking  deliberately,  his  hands  hanging  at  his 
sides ;  the  other  figure  was  a  taller  boy,  and  he  threw 
out  his  legs  in  a  curious,  undisciplined  way,  as 
though  he  had  little  control  over  them.  At  first  sight 
I  thought  he  was  not  sober. 

The  two  passed  out  of  sight  behind  a  clump  of 


THE  WONDER 

hawthorn,  but  once  I  saw  the  smaller  figure  turn 
and  face  the  other,  and  once  he  made  a  repelling 
gesture  with  his  hands. 

It  occurred  to  me  that  the  smaller  boy  was  try 
ing  to  avoid  his  companion;  that  he  was,  in  one 
sense,  running  away  from  him,  that  he  walked  as  one 
might  walk  away  from  some  threatening  animal,  de 
liberately — to  simulate  the  appearance  of  courage. 

I  fancied  the  bigger  boy  was  the  idiot  Harrison  I 
had  seen  that  afternoon,  and  Farmer  Bates's  "We 
hoped  we  were  shut  of  him"  recurred  to  me.  I 
wondered  if  the  idiot  were  dangerous  or  only  a 
nuisance. 

I  took  the  smaller  boy  to  be  one  of  the  villagers' 
children.  I  noticed  that  his  cricket-cap  had  a  dark 
patch  as  though  it  had  been  mended  with  some  other 
material. 

The  impression  which  I  received  from  this  trivial 
affair  was  one  of  disappointment.  The  wood  and 
the  Common  had  been  so  deserted  by  humanity,  so 
given  up  to  nature,  that  I  felt  the  presence  of  the 
idiot  to  be  a  most  distasteful  intrusion.  "If  that 
horrible  thing  is  going  to  haunt  the  Common  there 
will  be  no  peace  or  decency,"  was  the  idea  that 
presented  itself.  "I  must  send  him  off,  the  brute," 
was  the  corollary.  But  I  disliked  the  thought  of 
being  obliged  to  drive  him  away. 


I  GO  TO  PYM  243 

VI 

The  next  morning  I  did  not  go  on  the  Common; 
I  was  anxious  to  avoid  a  meeting  with  the  Harrison 
idiot.  I  had  been  debating  whether  I  should  drive 
him  away  if  I  met  him.  Obviously  I  had  no  more 
right  on  the  Common  than  he  had — on  the  other 
hand,  he  was  a  nuisance,  and  I  did  not  see  why  I 
should  allow  him  to  spoil  all  my  pleasure  in  that 
ideal  stretch  of  wild  land  which  pressed  on  three 
sides  of  the  Wood  Farm.  It  was  a  stupid  quandary 
of  my  own  making;  but  I  am  afraid  it  was  rather 
typical  of  my  mental  attitude.  I  am  prone  to  set 
myself  tasks,  such  as  this  eviction  of  the  idiot  from 
common  ground,  and  equally  prone  to  avoid  them  by 
a  process  of  procrastination. 

By  way  of  evasion  I  walked  over  to  Deane  Hill 
and  surveyed  the  wonderful  panorama  of  neat  coun 
try  that  fills  the  basin  between  the  Hampden  and 
the  Quainton  Hills.  Seen  from  that  height,  it  has 
something  the  effect  of  a  Dutch  landscape,  it  all 
looks  so  amazingly  tidy.  Away  to  the  left  I  looked 
over  Stoke-Underhill.  Ailesworth  was  a  blur  in  the 
hollow,  but  I  could  distinguish  the  high  fence  of  the 
County  Ground. 

I  sat  all  the  morning  on  Deane  Hill,  musing  and 
smoking,  thinking  of  such  things  as  Ginger  Stott, 
and  the  match  with  Surrey.  I  decided  that  I  must 


244  THE  WONDER 

certainly  go  and  see  Stott's  queer  son,  the  phenome 
non  who  had,  they  say,  read  all  the  books  in  Mr. 
Challis's  library.  I  wondered  what  sort  of  a  library 
this  Challis  had,  and  who  he  was.  I  had  never  heard 
of  him  before.  I  think  I  must  have  gone  to  sleep 
for  a  time. 

When  Mrs.  Berridge  came  to  clear  away  my  din 
ner — I  dined,  without  shame,  at  half-past  twelve — I 
detained  her  with  conversation.  Presently  I  asked 
about  little  Stott. 

% 

"He's  a  queer  one,  that's  what  he  is,"  said  Mrs. 
Berridge.  She  was  a  neat,  comely  little  woman, 
rather  superior  to  her  station,  and  it  seemed  to  me, 
certainly  superior  to  her  clod  of  a  husband. 

"A  great  reader,  Farmer  Bates  tells  me,"  I  said. 

Mrs.  Berridge  passed  that  by.  "His  mother's  in 
trouble  about  him  this  morning,"  she  said.  "She's 
such  a  nice,  respectable  woman,  and  has  all  her  milk 
and  eggs  and  butter  off  of  us.  She  was  here  this 
morning  while  you  were  out,  sir,  and,  what  I  could 
make  of  it  that  'Arrison  boy  had  been  chasing  her 
boy  on  the  Common  last  night." 

"Oh!"  I  said  with  sudden  enlightenment.  "I  be 
lieve  I  saw  them."  At  the  back  of  my  mind  I  was 
struggling  desperately  with  a  vague  remembrance. 
It  may  sound  incredible,  but  I  had  only  the  dim 
mest  memory  of  my  later  experience  of  the  child. 
The  train  incident  was  still  fresh  in  my  mind,  but 


I  GO  TO  PYM  245 

I  could  not  remember  what  Stott  had  told  me  when 
I  talked  with  him  by  the  pond.  I  seemed  to  have 
an  impression  that  the  child  had  some  strange  power 
of  keeping  people  at  a  distance;  or  was  I  mixing 
up  reality  with  some  Scandinavian  fairy  tale? 

"Very  likely,  sir,"  Mrs.  Berridge  went  on.  "What 
upset  Mrs.  Stott  was  that  her  boy's  never  upset  by 
anything — he  has  a  curious  way  of  looking  at  you, 
sir,  that  makes  you  wish  you  wasn't  there ;  but  from 
what  Mrs.  Stott  says,  this  'Arrison  boy  wasn't  to 
be  drove  off,  anyhow,  and  her  son  came  in  quite 
flurried  like.  Mrs.  Stott  seemed  quite  put  out  about 
it." 

Doubtless  I  might  have  had  more  information 
from  my  landlady,  but  I  was  struggling  to  recon 
struct  that  old  experience  which  had  slipped  away 
from  me,  and  I  nodded  and  turned  back  to  the  book 
I  had  been  pretending  to  read.  Mrs.  Berridge  was 
one  of  those  unusual  women — for  her  station  in  life 
— who  know  when  to  be  silent,  and  she  finished  her 
clearing  away  without  initiating  any  further  re 
marks. 

When  she  had  finished  I  went  out  onto  the  Com 
mon  and  looked  for  the  pond  where  I  had  talked 
with  Ginger  Stott. 

I  found  it  after  a  time,  and  then  I  began  to  gather 
up  the  threads  I  had  dropped. 

It  all  came  back  to  me,  little  by  little.     I  remem- 


246  THE  WONDER 

bered  that  talk  I  had  had  with  him,  his  very  gestures ; 
I  remembered  how  he  had  spoken  of  habits,  or  the 
necessity  for  the  lack  of  them,  and  that  took  me 
back  to  the  scene  in  the  British  Museum  Reading 
Room,  and  to  my  theory.  I  was  suddenly  alive  to 
that  old  interest  again. 

I  got  up  and  walked  eagerly  in  the  direction  of 
Mrs.  Stott's  cottage. 


CHAPTER   XV 


THE  INCIPIENCE  OF  MY  SUBJECTION  TO  THE 
WONDER 


VICTOR  STOTT  was  in  his  eighth  year  when  I  met  him 
for  the  third  time.  I  must  have  stayed  longer  than 
I  imagined  by  the  pond  on  the  Common,  for  Mrs. 
Stott  and  her  son  had  had  tea,  and  the  boy  was 
preparing  to  go  out.  He  stopped  when  he  saw  me 
coming;  an  unprecedented  mark  of  recognition,  so 
I  have  since  learned. 

As  I  saw  him  then,  he  made  a  remarkable,  but  not 
a  repulsively  abnormal  figure.  His  baldness  struck 
one  immediately,  but  it  did  not  give  him  a  look  of 
age.  Then  one  noticed  that  his  head  was  unmis 
takably  out  of  proportion  to  his  body,  yet  the  dis 
proportion  was  not  nearly  so  marked  as  it  had  been 
in  infancy.  These  two  things  were  conspicuous ;  the 
less  salient  peculiarities  were  observed  later;  the 
curious  little  beaky  nose  that  jutted  out  at  an  un 
usual  angle  from  the  face,  the  lips  that  were  too 
straight  and  determined  for  a  child,  the  laxity  of 

247 


248  THE  WONDER 

the  limbs  when  the  body  was  in  repose — lastly,  the 
eyes. 

When  I  met  Victor  Stott  on  this,  third,  occasion, 
there  can  be  no  doubt  that  he  had  lost  something  of 
his  original  power.  This  may  have  been  due  to  his 
long  sojourn  in  the  world  of  books,  a  sojourn  that 
had,  perhaps,  altered  the  strange  individuality  of  his 
thought ;  or  it  may  have  been  due,  in  part  at  least, 
to  his  recent  recognition  of  the  fact  that  the  power 
of  his  gaze  exercised  no  influence  over  creatures 
such  as  the  Harrison  idiot.  Nevertheless,  though 
something  of  the  original  force  had  abated,  he  still 
had  an  extraordinary,  and,  so  far  as  I  can  learn, 
altogether  unprecedented  power  of  enforcing  his  will 
without  word  or  gesture ;  and  I  may  say  here  that  in 
those  rare  moments  when  Victor  Stott  looked  me 
in  the  face,  I  seemed  to  see  a  rare  and  wonderful 
personality  peering  out  through  his  eyes, — the  per 
sonality  which  had,  no  doubt,  spoken  to  Challis  and 
Lewes  through  that  long  afternoon  in  the  library 
of  Challis  Court.  Normally  one  saw  a  curious,  un 
attractive,  rather  repulsive  figure  of  a  child;  when 
he  looked  at  one  with  that  rare  look  of  intention, 
the  man  that  lived  within  that  unattractive  body 
was  revealed,  his  insight,  his  profundity,  his  unex 
ampled  wisdom.  If  we  mark  the  difference  between 
man  and  animals  by  a  measure  of  intelligence,  then 
surely  this  child  was  a  very  god  among  men. 


MY  SUBJECTION  249 

n 

Victor  Stott  did  not  look  at  me  when  I  entered  his 
mother's  cottage ;  I  saw  only  the  unattractive  exte 
rior  of  him,  and  I  blundered  into  an  air  of  patronage. 

"Is  this  your  boy?"  I  said,  when  I  had  greeted 
her.  "I  hear  he  is  a  great  scholar." 

"Yes,  sir,"  replied  Ellen  Mary  quietly.  She  never 
boasted  to  strangers. 

"You  don't  remember  me,  I  suppose?"  I  went  on, 
foolishly;  trying,  however,  to  speak  as  to  an  equal. 
"You  were  in  petticoats  the  last  time  I  saw  you." 

The  Wonder  was  standing  by  the  window,  his  arms 
hanging  loosely  at  his  sides;  he  looked  out  aslant 
up  the  lane ;  his  profile  was  turned  towards  me.  He 
made  no  answer  to  my  question. 

"Oh  yes,  sir,  he  remembers,"  replied  Ellen  Mary. 
"He  never  forgets  anything." 

I  paused,  uncomfortably.  I  was  slightly  huffed 
by  the  boy's  silence. 

"I  have  come  to  spend  the  summer  here,"  I  said 
at  last.  "I  hope  he  will  come  to  see  me.  I  have 
brought  a  good  many  books  with  me;  perhaps  he 
might  care  to  read  some  of  them." 

I  had  to  talk  at  the  boy ;  there  was  no  alternative. 
Inwardly  I  was  thinking  that  I  had  Kant's  Critique 
and  Hegel's  Phenomenology  among  my  books.  "He 
may  put  on  airs  of  scholarship,"  I  thought;  "but 


250  THE  WONDER 

I  fancy  that  he  will  find  those  two  works  rather 
above  the  level  of  his  comprehension  as  yet."  I  did 
not  recognise  the  fact  that  it  was  I  who  was  putting 
on  airs,  not  Victor  Stott. 

"  'E's  given  up  reading  the  past  six  weeks,  sir," 
said  Ellen  Mary,  "but  I  daresay  he  will  come  and 
see  your  books." 

She  spoke  demurely,  and  she  did  not  look  at  her 
son;  I  received  the  impression  that  her  statements 
were  laid  before  him  to  take  up,  reject,  or  pass 
unnoticed  as  he  pleased. 

I  was  slightly  exasperated.  I  turned  to  the  Won 
der.  "Would  you  care  to  come?"  I  asked. 

He  nodded  without  looking  at  me,  and  walked  out 
of  the  cottage. 

I  hesitated. 

"  'E'll  go  with  you  now,  sir,"  prompted  Ellen 
Mary.  "That's  what  'e  means." 

I  followed  the  Wonder  in  a  condition  of  suppressed 
irritation.  "His  mother  might  be  able  to  interpret 
his  rudeness,"  I  thought,  "but  I  would  teach  him 
to  convey  his  intentions  more  clearly.  The  child 
had  been  spoilt." 

m 

The  Wonder  chose  the  road  over  the  Common.  I 
should  have  gone  by  the  wood,  but  when  we  came 
to  the  entrance  of  the  wood,  he  turned  up  on  to  the 


MY  SUBJECTION  251 

Common.  He  did  not  ask  me  which  way  I  preferred. 
Indeed,  we  neither  of  us  spoke  during  the  half-mile 
walk  that  separated  the  Wood  Farm  from  the  last 
cottage  in  Pym. 

I  was  fuming  inwardly.  I  had  it  in  my  mind  at 
that  time  to  put  the  Wonder  through  some  sort  of 
an  examination.  I  was  making  plans  to  contribute 
towards  his  education,  to  send  him  to  Oxford,  later. 
I  had  adumbrated  a  scheme  to  arouse  interest  in 
his  case  among  certain  scholars  and  men  of  influence 
with  whom  I  was  slightly  acquainted.  I  had  been 
very  much  engrossed  with  these  plans  as  I  had  made 
my  way  to  the  Stotts'  cottage.  I  was  still  somewhat 
exalted  in  mind  with  my  dreams  of  a  vicarious  bril 
liance.  I  had  pictured  the  Wonder's  magnificent 
passage  through  the  University;  I  had  acted,  in 
thought,  as  the  generous  and  kindly  benefactor.  .  .  . 
It  had  been  a  grandiose  dream,  and  the  reality  was 
so  humiliating.  Could  I  make  this  mannerless  child 
understand  his  possibilities?  Had  he  any  ambition? 

Thinking  of  these  things,  I  had  lagged  behind  as 
we  crossed  the  Common,  and  when  I  came  to  the 
gate  of  the  farmyard,  the  Wonder  was  at  the  door 
of  the  house.  He  did  not  wait  for  me,  but  walked 
straight  into  my  sitting-room.  When  I  entered,  I 
found  him  seated  on  the  low  window-sill,  turning 
over  the  top  layer  of  books  in  the  large  case  which 
had  been  opened,  but  not  unpacked.  There  was  no 


252  THE  WONDER 

place  to  put  the  books;  in  fact,  I  was  proposing  to 
have  some  shelves  put  up,  if  Mrs.  Berridge  had  no 
objection. 

I  entered  the  room  in  a  condition  of  warm  indig 
nation.  "Cheek"  was  the  word  that  was  in  my  mind. 
"Confounded  cheek,"  I  muttered.  Nevertheless  I 
did  not  interrupt  the  boy ;  instead,  I  lit  a  cigarette, 
sat  down  and  watched  him. 

I  was  sceptical  at  first.  I  noted  at  once  the  sure 
touch  with  which  the  boy  handled  my  books,  the 
practised  hand  that  turned  the  pages,  the  quick 
examination  of  title-page  and  the  list  of  contents, 
the  occasional  swift  reference  to  the  index,  but  I 
did  not  believe  it  possible  that  any  one  could  read 
so  fast  as  he  read  when  he  did  condescend  for  a  few 
moments  to  give  his  attention  to  a  few  consecutive 
pages.  "Was  it  a  pose?"  I  thought,  yet  he  was 
certainly  an  adept  in  handling  the  books.  I  was 
puzzled,  yet  I  was  still  sceptical — the  habit  of  ex 
perience  was  towards  disbelief — a  boy  of  seven  and 
a  half  could  not  possibly  have  the  mental  equipment 
to  skim  all  that  philosophy.  .  .  . 

My  books  were  being  unpacked  very  quickly. 
Kant,  Hegel,  Schelling,  Fichte,  Leibnitz,  Nietzsche, 
Hume,  Bradley,  William  James  had  all  been  rejected 
and  were  piled  on  the  floor,  but  he  had  hesitated 
longer  over  Bergson's  Creative  Evolution.  He  really 
seemed  to  be  giving  that  some  attention,  though  he 


MY  SUBJECTION  253 

read  it — if  he  were  reading  it — so  fast  that  the  hand 
which  turned  the  pages  hardly  rested  between  each 
movement. 

When  Bergson  was  sent  to  join  his  predecessors, 
I  determined  that  I  would  get  some  word  out  of 
this  strange  child — I  had  never  yet  heard  him  speak, 
not  a  single  syllable.  I  determined  to  brave  all 
rebuffs.  I  was  prepared  for  that. 

"Well?"  I  said,  when  Bergson  was  laid  down. 
"Well!  What  do  you  make  of  that?" 

He  turned  and  looked  out  of  the  window. 

I  came  and  sat  on  the  end  of  the  table  within  a 
few  feet  of  him.  From  that  position  I,  too,  could 
see  out  of  the  window,  and  I  saw  the  figure  of  the 
Harrison  idiot  slouching  over  the  farmyard  gate. 

A  gust  of  impatience  whirled  over  me.  I  caught 
up  my  stick  and  went  out  quickly. 

"Now  then,"  I  said,  as  I  came  within  speaking 
distance  of  the  idiot,  "get  away  from  here.  Out 
with  you !" 

The  idiot  probably  understood  no  word  of  what 
I  said,  but  like  a  dog  he  was  quick  to  interpret  my 
tone  and  gesture.  He  made  a  revoltingly  inhuman 
sound  as  he  shambled  away,  a  kind  of  throaty  yelp. 
I  walked  back  to  the  house.  I  could  not  avoid  the 
feeling  that  I  had  been  unnecessarily  brutal. 

When  I  returned  the  Wonder  was  still  staring  out 
of  the  window;  but  though  I  did  not  guess  it  then, 


THE  WONDER 

the  idiot  had  served  my  purpose  better  than  my 
determination.  It  was  to  the  idiot  that  I  owed  my 
subsequent  knowledge  of  Victor  Stott.  The  Wonder 
had  found  a  use  for  me.  He  was  resigned  to  bear 
with  my  feeble  mental  development,  because  I  was 
strong  enough  to  keep  at  bay  that  half-animal 
creature  who  appeared  to  believe  that  Victor  Stott 
was  one  of  his  own  kind — the  only  one  he  had  ever 
met.  The  idiot  in  some  unimaginable  way  had  in 
ferred  a  likeness  between  himself  and  the  Wonder — 
they  both  had  enormous  heads — and  the  idiot  was 
the  only  human  being  over  whom  the  Wonder  was 
never  able  to  exercise  the  least  authority. 


IV 

I  went  in  and  sat  down  again  on  the  end  of  the 
table.  I  was  rather  heated.  I  lit  another  cigarette 
and  stared  at  the  Wonder,  who  was  still  looking  out 
of  the  window. 

There  was  silence  for  a  few  seconds,  and  then  he 
spoke  of  his  own  initiative. 

"Illustrates  the  weakness  of  argument  from  his 
tory  and  analogy,"  he  said  in  a  clear,  small  voice, 
addressing  no  one  in  particular.  "Hegel's  limita 
tions  are  qualitatively  those  of  Harrison,  who  argues 
that  I  and  he  are  similar  in  kind." 

The  proposition  was  so  astounding  that  I  could 


MY  SUBJECTION  255 

find  no  answer  immediately.  If  the  statement  had 
been  made  in  boyish  language  I  should  have  laughed 
at  it,  but  the  phraseology  impressed  me. 

"You've  read  Hegel,  then?"  I  asked  evasively. 

"Subtract  the  endeavour  to  demonstrate  a  pre 
conceived  hypothesis  from  any  known  philosophy," 
continued  the  Wonder,  without  heeding  my  question, 
"and  the  remainder,  the  only  valuable  material,  is 
found  to  be  distorted."  He  paused  as  if  waiting  for 
my  reply. 

How  could  one  answer  such  propositions  as  these 
offhand?  I  tried,  however,  to  get  at  the  gist  of  the 
sentence,  and,  as  the  silence  continued,  I  said  with 
some  hesitation:  "But  it  is  impossible,  surely,  to 
approach  the  work  of  writing,  say  a  philosophy, 
without  some  apprehension  of  the  end  in  view?" 

"Illogical,"  replied  the  Wonder,  "not  philosophy; 
a  system  of  trial  and  error — to  evaluate  a  complex 
variable  function."  He  paused  a  moment,  and  then 
glanced  down  at  the  pile  of  books  on  the  floor. 
"More  millions,"  he  said. 

I  think  he  meant  that  more  millions  of  books 
might  be  written  on  this  system  without  arriving  at 
an  answer  to  the  problem,  but  I  admit  that  I  am 
at  a  loss,  that  I  cannot  interpret  his  remarks.  I 
wrote  them  down  an  hour  or  two  after  they  were 
uttered,  but  I  may  have  made  mistakes.  The  mathe- 


256  THE  WONDER 

matical  metaphor  is  beyond  me.  I  have  no  ac 
quaintance  with  the  higher  mathematics. 

The  Wonder  had  a  very  expressionless  face,  but  I 
thought  at  this  moment  that  he  wore  a  look  of 
sadness ;  and  that  look  was  one  of  the  factors  which 
helped  me  to  understand  the  unbridgeable  gulf  that 
lay  between  his  intellect  and  mine.  I  think  it  was 
at  this  moment  that  I  first  began  to  change  my 
opinion.  I  had  been  regarding  him  as  an  unbearable 
little  prig,  but  it  flashed  across  me  as  I  watched  him 
now,  that  his  mind  and  my  own  might  be  so  far 
differentiated  that  he  was  unable  to  convey  his 
thoughts  to  me.  "Was  it  possible,"  I  wondered, 
"that  he  had  been  trying  to  talk  down  to  my  level?" 

"I  am  afraid  I  don't  quite  follow  you,"  I  said. 
I  had  intended  to  question  him  further,  to  urge  him 
to  explain,  but  it  came  to  me  that  it  would  be  quite 
hopeless  to  go  on.  How  can  one  answer  the  un 
reasoning  questions  of  a  child?  Here  I  was  the  child, 
though  a  child  of  slightly  advanced  development.  I 
could  appreciate  that  it  was  useless  to  persist  in  a 
futile  "Why,  why?"  when  the  answer  could  only 
be  given  in  terms  that  I  could  not  comprehend. 
Therefore  I  hesitated,  sighed,  and  then  with  that 
obstinacy  of  vanity  which  creates  an  image  of  self- 
protection  and  refuses  to  relinquish  it,  I  said: 

"I  wish  you  could  explain  yourself;  not  on  this 
particular  point  of  philosophy,  but  your  life "  I 


MY  SUBJECTION  257 

stopped,  because  I  did  not  know  how  to  phrase  my 
demand.  What  was  it,  after  all,  that  I  wanted  to 
learn  ? 

"That  I  can't  explain,"  said  the  Wonder.  "There 
are  no  data." 

I  saw  that  he  had  accepted  my  request  for  ex 
planation  in  a  much  wider  sense  than  I  had  intended, 
and  I  took  him  up  on  this. 

"But  haven't  you  any  hypothesis?" 

"I  cannot  work  on  the  system  of  trial  and  error," 
replied  the  Wonder. 

Our  conversation  went  no  further  this  afternoon, 
for  Mrs.  Berridge  came  in  to  lay  the  cloth.  She 
looked  askance,  I  thought,  at  the  figure  on  the 
window-sill,  but  she  ventured  no  remark  save  to  ask 
if  I  was  ready  for  my  supper. 

"Yes,  oh !  yes !"  I  said. 

"Shall  I  lay  for  two,  sir?"  asked  Mrs.  Berridge. 

"Will  you  stay  and  have  supper?"  I  said  to  the 
Wonder,  but  he  shook  his  head,  got  up  and  walked 
out  of  the  room.  I  watched  him  cross  the  farmyard 
and  make  his  way'  over  the  Common. 

"Well!"  I  said  to  Mrs.  Berridge,  when  the  boy 
was  out  of  sight,  "that  child  is  what  in  America 
they  call  'the  limit,'  Mrs.  Berridge." 

My  landlady  put  her  lips  together,  shook  her  head, 
and  shivered  slightly.  "He  gives  me  the  shudders," 
she  said. 


258  THE  WONDER 


I  neither  read  nor  wrote  that  evening.  I  forgot 
to  go  out  for  a  walk  at  sunset.  I  sat  and  pondered 
until  it  was  time  for  bed,  and  then  I  pondered  myself 
to  sleep.  No  vision  came  to  me,  and  I  had  no  rele 
vant  dreams. 

The  next  morning  at  seven  o'clock  I  saw  Mrs. 
Stott  come  over  the  Common  to  fetch  her  milk  from 
the  farm.  I  waited  until  her  business  was  done,  and 
then  I  went  out  and  walked  back  with  her. 

"I  want  to  understand  about  your  son,"  I  said 
by  way  of  making  an  opening. 

She  looked  at  me  quickly.  "You  know,  'e  'ardly 
ever  speaks  to  me,  sir,"  she  said. 

I  was  staggered  for  a  moment.  "But  you  under 
stand  him?"  I  said. 

"In  some  ways,  sir,"  was  her  answer. 

I  recognised  the  direction  of  the  limitation.  "Ah ! 
we  none  of  us  understand  him  in  all  ways,"  I  said, 
with  a  touch  of  patronage. 

"No,  sir,"  replied  Ellen  Mary.  She  evidently 
agreed  to  that  statement  without  qualification. 

"But  what  is  he  going  to  do?"  I  asked.  "When 
he  grows  up,  I  mean?" 

"I  can't  say,  sir.     We  must  leave  that  to  'im." 

I  accepted  the  rebuke  more  mildly  than  I  should 


MY  SUBJECTION  259 

have  done  on  the  previous  day.  "He  never  speaks 
of  his  future?"  I  said  feebly. 

"No,  sir." 

There  seemed  to  be  nothing  more  to  say.  We  had 
only  gone  a  couple  of  hundred  yards,  but  I  paused 
in  my  walk.  I  thought  I  might  as  well  go  back 
and  get  my  breakfast.  But  Mrs.  Stott  looked  at 
me  as  though  she  had  something  more  to  say.  We 
stood  facing  each  other  on  the  cart  track. 

"I  suppose  I  can't  be  of  any  use?"  I  asked 
vaguely. 

Ellen  Mary  became  suddenly  voluble. 

"I  'ope  I'm  not  askin'  too  much,  sir,"  she  said, 
"but  there  is  a  way  you  could  'elp  if  you  would.  'E 
'ardly  ever  speaks  to  me,  as  I've  said,  but  I've  been 
opset  about  that  'Arrison  boy.  'E's  a  brute  beast, 
sir,  if  you  know  what  I  mean,  and  V"  (she  differen 
tiated  her  pronouns  only  by  accent,  and  where  there 
is  any  doubt  I  have  used  italics  to  indicate  that  her 
son  is  referred  to)  "doesn't  seem  to  'ave  the  same 
'old  on  'im  as  ""e  does  over  others.  It's  truth,  I  am 
not  easy  in  my  mind  about  it,  sir,  although  *e  'as 
never  said  a  word  to  me,  not  being  afraid  of  any 
thing  like  other  children,  but  'e  seems  to  have  took 
a  sort  of  a  fancy  to  you,  sir"  (I  think  this  was  in 
tended  as  the  subtlest  flattery),  "and  if  you  was  to 
go  with  'im  when  'e  takes  'is  walks — 'e's  much  in  the 
air,  sir,  and  a  great  one  for  walkin' — I  think  'e'd  be 


260  THE  WONDER 

glad  of  your  cump'ny,  though  maybe  'e  won't  never 
say  it  in  so  many  words.  You  mustn't  mind  'im 
being  silent,  sir ;  there's  some  things  we  can't  under 
stand,  and  though,  as  I  say,  'e  'asn't  said  anything 
to  me,  it's  not  that  I'm  scheming  be'ind  'is  back,  for 
I  know  'is  meaning  without  words  being  necessary." 

She  might  have  said  more,  but  I  interrupted  her 
at  this  point.  "Certainly,  I  will  come  and  fetch 
him," — I  lapsed  unconsciously  into  her  system  of 
denomination — "this  morning,  if  you  are  sure  he 
would  like  to  come  out  with  me." 

"I'm  quite  sure,  sir,"  she  said. 

"About  nine  o'clock?"  I  asked. 

"That  would  do  nicely,  sir,"  she  answered. 

As  I  walked  back  to  the  farm  I  was  thinking  of 
the  life  of  those  two  occupants  of  the  Stotts'  cottage. 
The  mother  who  watched  her  son  in  silence,  studying 
his  every  look  and  action  in  order  to  gather  his 
meaning;  who  never  asked  her  son  a  question  nor 
expected  from  him  any  statement  of  opinion;  and 
the  son  wrapped  always  in  that  profound  speculation 
which  seemed  to  be  his  only  mood.  What  a  house 
hold! 

It  struck  me  while  I  was  having  breakfast  that  I 
seemed  to  have  let  myself  in  for  a  duty  that  might 
prove  anything  but  pleasant. 


MY  SUBJECTION  261 


VI 


There  is  nothing  to  say  of  that  first  walk  of  mine 
with  the  Wonder.  I  spoke  to  him  once  or  twice 
and  he  answered  by  nodding  his  head;  even  this 
notice  I  now  know  to  have  been  a  special  mark  of 
favour,  a  condescension  to  acknowledge  his  use  for 
me  as  a  guardian.  He  did  not  speak  at  all  onjtthis 
occasion. 

I  did  not  call  for  him  in  the  afternoon;  I  had 
made  other  plans.  I  wanted  to  see  the  man  Challis, 
whose  library  ha'd  been  at  the  disposal  of  this  aston 
ishing  child.  Challis  might  be  able  to  give  me  fur 
ther  information.  The  truth  of  the  matter  is  that 
I  was  in  two  minds  as  to  whether  I  would  stay  at 
Pym  through  the  summer,  as  I  had  originally 
intended.  I  was  not  in  love  with  the  prospect  which 
the  sojourn  now  held  out  for  me.  If  I  were  to  be 
constituted  head  nursemaid  to  Master  Victor  Stott, 
there  would  remain  insufficient  time  for  the  progress 
of  my  own  book  on  certain  aspects  of  the  growth  of 
the  philosophic  method. 

I  see  now,  when  I  look  back,  that  I  was  not  con 
vinced  at  that  time,  that  I  still  doubted  the  Wonder's 
learning.  I  may  have  classed  it  as  a  freakish  pedan 
try,  the  result  of  an  unprecedented  memory. 

Mrs.  Berridge  had  much  information  to  impart 
on  the  subject  of  Henry  Challis.  He  was  her  hus- 


262  THE  WONDER 

band's  landlord,  of  course,  and  his  was  a  hallowed 
name,  to  be  spoken  with  decency  and  respect.  I  am 
afraid  I  shocked  Mrs.  Berridge  at  the  outset  by  my 
casual  "Who's  this  man  Challis?"  She  certainly 
atoned  by  her  own  manner  for  my  irreverence;  she 
very  obviously  tried  to  impress  me.  I  professed  sub 
mission,  but  was  not  intimidated,  rather  my  curi 
osity  was  aroused. 
t 

Mrs.  Berridge  was  not  able  to  tell  me  the  one  thing 
I  most  desired  to  know,  whether  the  lord  of  Challis 
Court  was  in  residence ;  but  it  was  not  far  to  walk, 
and  I  set  out  about  two  o'clock. 


vn 

Challis  was  getting  into  his  motor  as  I  walked  up 
the  drive.  I  hurried  forward  to  catch  him  before 
the  machine  was  started.  He  saw  me  coming  and 
paused  on  the  doorstep. 

"Did  you  want  to  see  me?"  he  asked,  as  I  came 
up. 

"Mr.  Challis?"  I  asked. 

"Yes,"  he  said. 

"I  won't  keep  you  now,"  I  said,  "but  perhaps 
you  could  let  me  know  some  time  when  I  could  see 
you." 

"Oh,  yes,"  he  said,  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  is 
constantly  subjected  to  annoyance  by  strangers. 


MY  SUBJECTION  263 

"But  perhaps  you  wouldn't  mind  telling  me  what 
it  is  you  wish  to  see  me  about?  I  might  be  able  to 
settle  it  now,  at  once." 

"I  am  staying  at  the  Wood  Farm,"  I  began.  "I 
am  interested  in  a  very  remarkable  child " 

"Ah!  take  my  advice,  leave  him  alone,"  inter 
rupted  Challis  quickly. 

I  suppose  I  looked  my  amazement,  for  Challis 
laughed.  "Oh,  well,"  he  said,  "of  course  you  won't 
take  such  spontaneous  advice  as  that.  I'm  in  no 
hurry.  Come  in."  He  took  off  his  heavy  overcoat 
and  threw  it  into  the  tonneau.  "Come  round  again 
in  an  hour,"  he  said  to  the  chauffeur. 

"It's  very  good  of  you,"  I  protested,  "I  could 
come  quite  well  at  any  other  time." 

"I'm  in  no  hurry,"  he  repeated.  "You  had  better 
come  to  the  scene  of  Victor  Stott's  operations.  He 
hasn't  been  here  for  six  weeks,  by  the  way.  Can 
you  throw  any  light  on  his  absence?" 

I  made  a  friend  that  afternoon.  When  the  car 
came  back  at  four  o'clock,  Challis  sent  it  away 
again.  "I  shall  probably  stay  down  here  to-night," 
he  said  to  the  butler,  and  to  me:  "Can  you  stay  to 
dinner?  I  must  convince  you  about  this  child." 

"I  have  dined  once  to-day,"  I  said.  "At  half- 
past  twelve.  I  have  no  other  excuse." 

"Oh!  well,"  said   Challis,  "you  needn't  eat,  but 


264  THE  WONDER 

I  must.  Get  us  something,  Heathcote,"  he  said  to 
the  butler,  "and  bring  tea  here." 

Much  of  our  conversation  after  dinner  was  not 
relevant  to  the  subject  of  the  Wonder;  we  drifted 
into  a  long  argument  upon  human  origins  which 
has  no  place  here.  But  by  that  time  I  had  been 
very  well  informed  as  to  all  the  essential  facts  of  the 
Wonder's  childhood,  of  his  entry  into  the  world  of 
books,  of  his  earlier  methods,  and  of  the  significance 
of  that  long  speech  in  the  library.  But  at  that  point 
Challis  became  reserved.  He  would  give  me  no 
details. 

"You  must  forgive  me;  I  can't  go  into  that,"  he 
said. 

"But  it  is  so  incomparably  important,"  I  pro 
tested. 

"That  may  be,  but  you  must  not  question  me. 
The  truth  of  the  matter  is  that  I  have  a  very  con 
fused  memory  of  what  the  boy  said,  and  the  little  I 
might  remember,  I  prefer  to  leave  undisturbed." 

He  piqued  my  curiosity,  but  I  did  not  press  him. 
It  was  so  evident  that  he  did  not  wish  to  speak  on 
that  head. 

He  walked  up  with  me  to  the  farm  at  ten  o'clock 
and  came  into  my  room. 

"We  need  not  keep  you  out  of  bed,  Mrs.  Berridge," 
he  said  to  my  flustered  landlady.  "I  daresay  we 
shall  be  up  till  all  hours.  We  promise  to  see  that 


MY  SUBJECTION  265 

the  house  is  locked  up."  Mr.  Berridge  stood  a  figure 
of  subservience  in  the  background. 

My  books  were  still  heaped  on  the  floor.  Challis 
sat  down  on  the  window-sill  and  looked  over  some 
of  them.  "Many  of  these  Master  Stott  probably 
read  in  my  library,"  he  remarked,  "in  German. 
Language  is  no  bar  to  him.  He  learns  a  language 
as  you  or  I  would  learn  a  page  of  history." 

Later  on,  I  remember  that  we  came  down  to 
essentials.  "I  must  try  and  understand  something 
of  this  child's  capacities,"  I  said  in  answer  to  a  hint 
of  Challis's  that  I  should  leave  the  Wonder  alone. 
"It  seems  to  me  that  here  we  have  something  which 
is  of  the  first  importance,  of  greater  importance, 
indeed,  than  anything  else  in  the  history  of  the 
world." 

"But  you  can't  make  him  speak,"  said  Challis. 

"I  shall  try,"  I  said.  "I  recognise  that  we  cannot 
compel  him,  but  I  have  a  certain  hold  over  him.  I 
see  from  what  you  have  told  me  that  he  has  treated 
me  with  most  unusual  courtesy.  I  assure  you  that 
several  times  when  I  spoke  to  him  this  morning  he 
nodded  his  head." 

"A  good  beginning,"  laughed  Challis. 

"I  can't  understand,"  I  went  on,  "how  it  is  that 
you  are  not  more  interested.  It  seems  to  me  that 
this  child  knows  many  things  which  we  have  been 


266  THE  WONDER 

patiently  attempting  to  discover  since  the  dawn  of 
civilisation." 

"Quite,"  said  Challis.  "I  admit  that,  but  ... 
well,  I  don't  think  I  want  to  know." 

"Surely,"  I  said,  "this  key  to  all  knowledge " 

"We  are  not  ready  for  it,"  replied  Challis.  "You 
can't  teach  metaphysics  to  children." 

Nevertheless  my  ardour  was  increased,  not  abated, 
by  my  long  talk  with  Challis. 

"I  shall  go  on,"  I  said,  as  I  went  out  to  the  farm 
gate  with  him  at  half-past  two  in  the  morning. 

"Ah!  well,"  he  answered,  "I  shall  come  over  and 
see  you  when  I  get  back."  He  had  told  me  earlier 
that  he  was  going  abroad  for  some  months. 

We  hesitated  a  moment  by  the  gate,  and  instinc 
tively  we  both  looked  up  at  the  vault  of  the  sky  and 
the  glimmering  dust  of  stars. 

The  same  thought  was  probably  in  both  our  minds, 
the  thought  of  the  insignificance  of  this  little  system 
that  revolves  round  one  of  the  lesser  lights  of  the 
Milky  Way,  but  that  thought  was  not  to  be  ex 
pressed  save  by  some  banality,  and  we  did  not  speak. 

"I  shall  certainly  look  you  up  when  I  come  back," 
said  Challis. 

"Yes ;  I  hope  you  will,"  I  said  lamely. 

I  watched  the  loom  of  his  figure  against  the  vague 
background  till  I  could  distinguish  it  no  longer. 


CHAPTER    XVI 

THE   PROGRESS   AND    RELAXATION   OF  MY 
SUBJECTION 


THE  memory  of  last  summer  is  presented  to  me  now 
as  a  series  of  pictures,  some  brilliant,  others  vague, 
others  again  so  uncertain  that  I  cannot  be  sure  how 
far  they  are  true  memories  of  actual  occurrences, 
and  how  far  they  are  interwoven  with  my  thoughts 
and  dreams.  I  have,  for  instance,  a  recollection  of 
standing  on  Deane  Hill  and  looking  down  over  the 
wide  panorama  of  rural  England,  through  a  driving 
mist  of  fine  rain.  This  might  well  be  counted  among 
true  memories,  were  it  not  for  the  fact  that  clearly 
associated  with  the  picture  is  an  image  of  myself 
grown  to  enormous  dimensions,  a  Brocken  spectre 
that  threatened  the  world  with  titanic  gestures  of 
denouncement,  and  I  seem  to  remember  that  this 
figure  was  saying :  "All  life  runs  through  my  fingers 
like  a  handful  of  dry  sand."  And  yet  the  remem 
brance  has  not  the  quality  of  a  dream. 

I  was,  undoubtedly,  overwrought  at  times.    There 
267 


268  THE  WONDER 

were  days  when  the  sight  of  a  book  filled  me  with 
physical  nausea,  with  contempt  for  the  littleness, 
the  narrow  outlook,  that  seemed  to  me  to  charac 
terise  every  written  work.  I  was  fiercely,  but  quite 
impotently,  eager  at  such  times  to  demonstrate  the 
futility  of  all  the  philosophy  ranged  on  the  rough 
wooden  shelves  in  my  gloomy  sitting-room.  I  would 
walk  up  and  down  and  gesticulate,  struggling,  fight 
ing  to  make  clear  to  myself  what  a  true  philosophy 
should  set  forth.  I  felt  at  such  times  that  all  the 
knowledge  I  needed  for  so  stupendous  a  task  was 
present  with  me  in  some  inexplicable  way,  was  even 
pressing  upon  me,  but  that  my  brain  was  so  clogged 
and  heavy  that  not  one  idea  of  all  that  priceless 
wisdom  could  be  expressed  in  clear  thought.  "I 
have  never  been  taught  to  think,"  I  would  complain, 
"I  have  never  perfected  the  machinery  of  thought," 
and  then  some  dictum  thrown  out  haphazard  by  the 
Wonder — his  conception  of  light  conversation — 
would  recur  to  me,  and  I  would  realise  that  however 
well  I  had  been  trained,  my  limitations  would  remain, 
that  I  was  an  undeveloped  animal,  only  one  stage 
higher  than  a  totem-fearing  savage,  a  creature  of 
small  possibilities,  incapable  of  dealing  with  great 
problems. 

Once  the  Wonder  said  to  me,  in  a  rare  moment  of 
lucid  condescension  to  my  feeble  intellect,  "You 
figure  space  as  a  void  in  three  dimensions,  and  time 


PROGRESS  AND  RELAXATION        269 

as  a  line  that  runs  across  it,  and  all  other  concep 
tions  you  relegate  to  that  measure."  He  implied 
that  this  was  a  cumbrous  machinery  which  had  no 
relation  to  reality,  and  could  define  nothing.  He 
told  me  that  his  idea  of  force,  for  example,  was  a 
pure  abstraction,  for  which  there  was  no  figure  in 
my  mental  outfit. 

Such  pronouncements  as  these  left  me  struggling 
like  a  drowning  man  in  deep  water.  I  felt  that  it 
must  be  possible  for  me  to  come  to  the  surface,  but 
I  could  do  nothing  but  flounder ;  beating  fiercely  with 
limbs  that  were  so  powerful  and  yet  so  utterly  use 
less.  I  saw  that  my  very  metaphors  symbolised  my 
feebleness ;  I  had  no  terms  for  my  own  mental  con 
dition;  I  was  forced  to  resort  to  some  inapplicable 
physical  analogy. 

These  fits  of  revolt  against  the  limitations  of 
human  thought  grew  more  frequent  as  the  summer 
progressed.  Day  after  day  my  self-sufficiency  and 
conceit  were  being  crushed  out  of  me.  I  was  always 
in  the  society  of  a  boy  of  seven  whom  I  was  forced 
to  regard  as  immeasurably  my  intellectual  superior. 
There  was  no  department  of  useful  knowledge  in 
which  I  could  compete  with  him.  Compete  indeed ! 
I  might  as  well  speak  of  a  third-standard  child  com 
peting  with  Macaulay  in  a  general  knowledge  paper. 

"Useful  knowledge,"  I  have  written,  but  the 
uhrase  needs  definition.  I  might  have  taught  the 


270  THE  WONDER 

Wonder  many  things,  no  doubt;  the  habits  of  men 
in  great  cities,  the  aspects  of  foreign  countries,  or 
the  subtleties  of  cricket ;  but  when  I  was  with  him 
I  felt — and  my  feelings  must  have  been  typical — 
that  such  things  as  these  were  of  no  account. 

Towards  the  end  of  the  summer,  the  occasions 
upon  which  I  was  able  to  stimulate  myself  into  a 
condition  of  bearable  complacency  were  very  rare. 
I  often  thought  of  Challis's  advice  to  leave  the  Won 
der  alone.  I  should  have  gone  away  if  I  had  been 
free,  but  Victor  Stott  had  a  use  for  me,  and  I  was 
powerless  to  disobey  him.  I  feared  him,  but  he  con 
trolled  me  at  his  will.  I  feared  him  as  I  had  once 
feared  an  imaginary  God,  but  I  did  not  hate  him. 

One  curious  little  fragment  of  wisdom  came  to  me 
as  the  result  of  my  experience — a  useless  fragment 
perhaps,  but  something  that  has  in  one  way  altered 
my  opinion  of  my  fellow-men.  I  have  learnt  that 
a  measure  of  self-pride,  of  complacency,  is  essential 
to  every  human  being.  I  judge  no  man  any  more 
for  displaying  an  overweening  vanity,  rather  do  I 
envy  him  this  representative  mark  of  his  humanity. 
The  Wonder  was  completely  and  quite  inimitably 
devoid  of  any  conceit,  and  the  word  ambition  had 
no  meaning  for  him.  It  was  inconceivable  that  he 
should  compare  himself  with  any  of  his  fellow-crea 
tures,  and  it  was  inconceivable  that  any  honour  they 
might  have  lavished  upon  him  would  have  given 


PROGRESS  AND  RELAXATION        271 

him  one  moment's  pleasure.  He  was  entirely  alone 
among  aliens  who  were  unable  to  comprehend  him, 
aliens  who  could  not  flatter  him,  whose  opinions  were 
valueless  to  him.  He  had  no  more  common  ground 
on  which  to  air  his  knowledge,  no  more  grounds  for 
comparison  by  which  to  achieve  self-conceit  than  a 
man  might  have  in  a  world  tenanted  only  by  sheep. 
From  what  I  have  heard  him  say  on  the  subject  of 
our  slavery  to  preconceptions,  I  think  the  metaphor 
of  sheep  is  one  which  he  might  have  approved. 

But  the  result  of  all  this,  so  far  as  I  am  concerned, 
is  a  feeling  of  admiration  for  those  men  who  are 
capable  of  such  magnificent  approval  for  themselves, 
the  causes  they  espouse,  their  family,  their  country, 
and  their  species ;  it  is  an  approval  which  I  fear  I 
can  never  again  attain  in  full  measure. 

I  have  seen  possibilities  which  have  enforced  a 
humbleness  that  is  not  good  for  my  happiness  nor 
conducive  to  my  development.  Henceforward  I  will 
espouse  the  cause  of  vanity.  It  is  only  the  vain  who 
deprecate  vanity  in  others. 

But  there  were  times  in  the  early  period  of  my 
association  with  Victor  Stott  when  I  rebelled  vigor 
ously  against  his  complacent  assumption  of  my 
ignorance. 


272  THE  WONDER 

n 

May  was  a  gloriously  fine  month,  and  we  were 
much  out  of  doors.  Unfortunately,  except  for  one 
fortnight  in  August,  that  was  all  the  settled  weather 
we  had  that  summer. 

I  remember  sitting  one  afternoon  staring  at  the 
same  pond  that  Ginger  Stott  had  stared  at  when 
he  told  me  that  the  boy  now  beside  me  was  a  "blarsted 
freak." 

The  Wonder  had  said  nothing  that  day,  but  now 
he  began  to  enunciate  some  of  his  incomprehensible 
commonplaces  in  that  thin,  clear  voice  of  his.  I 
wrote  down  what  I  could  remember  of  his  utterances 
when  I  went  home,  but  now  I  read  them  over  again 
I  am  exceedingly  doubtful  whether  I  reported  him 
correctly.  There  is,  however,  one  dictum  which 
seems  clearly  phrased,  and  when  I  recall  the  scene, 
I  remember  trying  to  push  the  induction  he  had 
started.  The  pronouncement,  as  I  have  it  written, 
is  as  follows: 

"Pure  deduction  from  a  single  premiss,  unaided 
by  previous  knowledge  of  the  functions  of  the  terms 
used  in  the  expansion  of  the  argument,  is  an  act  of 
creation,  incontrovertible,  and  outside  the  scope  of 
human  reasoning." 

I  believe  he  meant  to  say — but  my  notes  are  hor 
ribly  confused — that  logic  and  philosophy  were  only 


PROGRESS  AND  RELAXATION        273 

relative,  being  dependent  always  in  a  greater  or 
less  degree  upon  the  test  of  a  material  experiment  for 
verification. 

Here,  as  always,  I  find  the  Wonder's  pronounce 
ments  very  elusive.  In  one  sense  I  see  that  what  I 
have  quoted  here  is  a  self-evident  proposition,  but 
I  have  the  feeling  that  behind  it  there  lies  some 
gleam  of  wisdom  which  throws  a  faint  light  on  the 
profound  problem  of  existence. 

I  remember  that  in  my  own  feeble  way  I  tried  to 
analyse  this  statement,  and  for  a  time  I  thought  I 
had  grasped  one  significant  aspect  of  it.  It  seemed 
to  me  that  the  possibility  of  conceiving  a  philosophy 
that  was  not  dependent  for  verification  upon  ma 
terial  experiment — that  is  to  say,  upon  evidence 
afforded  by  the  five  senses — indicates  that  there  is 
something  which  is  not  matter;  but  that  since  the 
development  of  such  a  philosophy  is  not  possible  to 
our  minds,  we  must  argue  that  our  dependence  upon 
matter  is  so  intimate  that  it  is  almost  impossible  to 
conceive  that  we  are  actuated  by  any  impulse  which 
does  not  arise  out  of  a  material  complex. 

At  the  back  of  my  mind  there  seemed  to  be  a 
thought  that  I  could  not  focus,  I  trembled  on  the 
verge  of  some  great  revelation  that  never  came. 

Through  my  thoughts  there  ran  a  thread  of  rev 
erence  for  the  intelligence  that  had  started  my  specu- 


274  THE  WONDER 

lations.  If  only  he  could  speak  in  terms  that  I  could 
understand. 

I  looked  round  at  the  Wonder.  He  was,  as  usual, 
apparently  lost  in  abstraction,  and  quite  uncon 
scious  of  my  regard. 

The  wind  was  strong  on  the  Common,  and  he 
sniffed  once  or  twice  and  then  wiped  his  nose.  He 
did  not  use  a  handkerchief. 

It  came  to  me  at  the  moment  that  he  was  no  more 
than  a  vulgar  little  village  boy. 


m 

There  were  few  incidents  to  mark  the  progress  of 
that  summer.  I  marked  the  course  of  time  by  my 
own  thoughts  and  feelings,  especially  by  my  growing 
submission  to  the  control  of  the  Wonder. 

It  was  curious  to  recall  that  I  had  once  thought 
of  correcting  the  Wonder's  manners,  of  administer 
ing,  perhaps,  a  smacking.  That  was  a  fault  of 
ignorance.  I  had  often  erred  in  the  same  way  in 
other  experiences  of  life,  but  I  had  not  taken  the 
lesson  to  heart.  I  remember  at  school  our  "head" 
taking  us — I  was  in  the  lower  fifth  then — in  Latin 
verse.  He  rebuked  me  for  a  false  quantity,  and  I, 
very  cocksure,  disputed  the  point  and  read  my  line. 
The  head  pointed  out  very  gravely  that  I  had  been 
misled  by  an  English  analogy  in  my  pronunciation 


PROGRESS  AND  RELAXATION        275 

of  the  word  "maritus,"  and  I  grew  very  hot  and 
ashamed  and  apologetic.  I  feel  much  the  same  now 
when  I  think  of  my  early  attitude  towards  the  Won 
der.  But  this  time,  I  think,  I  have  profited  by  my 
experience. 

There  is,  however,  one  incident  which  in  the  light 
of  subsequent  events  it  seems  worth  while  to  record. 

One  afternoon  in  early  July,  when  the  sky  had 
lifted  sufficiently  for  us  to  attempt  some  sort  of  a 
walk,  we  made  our  way  down  through  the  sodden 
woods  in  the  direction  of  Deane  Hill. 

As  we  were  emerging  into  the  lane  at  the  foot  of 
the  slope,  I  saw  the  Harrison  idiot  lurking  behind 
the  trunk  of  a  big  beech.  This  was  only  the  third 
time  I  had  seen  him  since  I  drove  him  away  from 
the  farm,  and  on  the  two  previous  occasions  he  had 
not  come  close  to  us. 

This  time  he  had  screwed  up  his  courage  to  follow 
us.  As  we  climbed  the  lane  I  saw  him  slouching 
up  the  hedge-side  behind  us. 

The  Wonder  took  no  notice,  and  we  continued  our 
way  in  silence. 

When  we  reached  the  prospect  at  the  end  of  the 
hill,  where  the  ground  falls  away  like  a  cliff  and  you 
have  a  bird's-eye  view  of  two  counties,  we  sat  down 
on  the  steps  of  the  monument  erected  in  honour  of 
those  Hampdenshire  men  whose  lives  were  thrown 
away  in  the  South-African  war. 


276  THE  WONDER 

That  view  always  has  a  soothing  effect  upon  me, 
and  I  gave  myself  up  to  an  ecstasy  of  contemplation 
and  forgot,  for  a  few  moments,  the  presence  of  the 
Wonder,  and  the  fact  that  the  idiot  had  followed  us. 

I  was  recalled  to  existence  by  the  sound  of  a 
foolish,  conciliatory  mumbling,  and  looked  round  to 
see  the  leering  face  of  the  Harrison  idiot  ogling  the 
Wonder  from  the  corner  of  the  plinth.  The  Wonder 
was  between  me  and  the  idiot,  but  he  was  apparently 
oblivious  of  either  of  us. 

I  was  about  to  rise  and  drive  the  idiot  away,  but 
the  Wonder,  still  staring  out  at  some  distant  hori 
zon,  said  quietly,  "Let  him  be." 

I  was  astonished,  but  I  sat  still  and  awaited 
events. 

The  idiot  behaved  much  as  I  have  seen  a  very 
young  and  nervous  puppy  behave. 

He  came  within  a  few  feet  of  us,  gurgling  and 
crooning,  flapping  his  hands  and  waggling  his  great 
head;  his  uneasy  eyes  wandered  from  the  Wonder 
to  me  and  back  again,  but  it  was  plainly  the  Wonder 
whom  he  wished  to  propitiate.  Then  he  suddenly 
backed  as  if  he  had  dared  too  much,  flopped  on  to 
the  wet  grass  and  regarded  us  both  with  foolish, 
S°SS^nS  eyes-  For  a  few  seconds  he  lay  still,  and 
then  he  began  to  squirm  along  the  ground  towards 
us,  a  few  inches  at  a  time,  stopping  every  now  and 
again  to  bleat  and  gurgle  with  that  curious,  crooning 


PROGRESS  AND  RELAXATION        277 

note  which  he  appeared  to  think  would  pacificate 
the  object  of  his  overtures. 

I  stood  by,  as  it  were ;  ready  to  obey  the  first  hint 
that  the  presence  of  this  horrible  creature  was 
distasteful  to  the  Wonder,  but  he  gave  no  sign. 

The  idiot  had  come  within  five  or  six  feet  of  us, 
wriggling  himself  along  the  wet  grass,  before  the 
Wonder  looked  at  him.  The  look  when  it  came  was 
one  of  those  deliberate,  intentional  stares  which 
made  one  feel  so  contemptible  and  insignificant. 

The  idiot  evidently  regarded  this  look  as  a  sign  of 
encouragement.  He  knelt  up,  began  to  flap  his 
hands  and  changed  his  crooning  note  to  a  pleased, 
emphatic  bleat. 

"A-ba-ba,"  he  blattered,  and  made  uncouth 
gestures,  by  which  I  think  he  meant  to  signify 
that  he  wanted  the  Wonder  to  come  and  play  with 
him. 

Still  the  Wonder  gave  no  sign,  but  his  gaze  never 
wavered,  and  though  the  idiot  was  plainly  not 
intimidated,  he  never  met  that  gaze  for  more  than  a 
second  or  two.  Nevertheless  he  came  on,  walking 
now  on  his  knees,  and  at  last  stretched  out  a  hand 
to  touch  the  boy  he  so  curiously  desired  for  a  play 
mate.  * 

That  broke  the  spell.  The  Wonder  drew  back 
quickly — he  never  allowed  one  to  touch  him — got 
up  and  climbed  two  or  three  steps  higher  up  the 


278  THE  WONDER 

base  of  the  monument.  "Send  him  away,'"  he  said 
tone, 

•TnatTl  do,"  I  said  threateningij  to  the  idiot, 
and  aft  the  sound  of  mj  voice  and  the  gesture  of  my 
yelped,  rolled  orer  away  from 
got  to  his  feet  and  shambled  off  for 
several  yards  before  stopping  to  regard  us  once  more 
with  IMS  pacificatory,  disgusting  ogle. 

"Send  IJBM  away,"  repeated  the  Wonder,  as  I 
hesitated,  and  I  rose  to  my  feet  and  pretended  to 
pack  up  a  stove. 

Tnat  was  enough.  The  idiot  yelped  again  and 
fce  did  not  stop,  though  he 
several  times  as  he  lolloped 
away  asaong  the  low  gorse,  to  which  look  I  replied 
always  with  the  threat  of  an  imaginary  stone. 

we  walked  hone.  He  had  shown  no  sign  of  fear. 
It  occurred  to  me  that  my  guardianship  of  him  was 
••crely  a  convenience,  not  a  protection  from  any 


IT 


A*  tnne  went  on  it  beenae  increasingly  clear  to 
•e  that  My  chance  of  obtaining  the  Wonder's  con- 

ItOf^tCf  U"JfcS  DCCOBDB^F  9BOP£  JKfls9  KQOfC  FCOBOtt?* 

At  irst  he  had  nifliiil  to  my  questions ;  usually, 
it  is  tme,  bj  no  More  than  an  inclination  of  his 


am 


.-.- 


280  THE  WONDER 

pleasant,  in  spiriting  visions,  but  the  indefinite,  per 
plexing  shapes  of  delirium. 

I  think  it  must  have  been  in  August  that  I  stood 
on  Deane  Hill,  through  an  afternoon  of  fine,  driving 
rain,  and  had  a  vision  of  myself  playing  tricks  with 
the  sands  of  life. 

I  had  begun  to  lose  my  hold  on  reality.  Silence, 
contemplation,  a  long-continued  wrestle  with  the 
profound  problems  of  life,  were  combining  to  break 
up  the  intimacy  of  life  and  matter,  and  my  brain 
was  not  of  the  calibre  to  endure  the  strain. 

Challis  saw  at  once  what  ailed  me. 

He  came  up  to  the  farm  one  morning  at  twelve 
o'clock.  The  date  was,  I  believe,  the  twelfth  of  Sep 
tember.  It  was  a  brooding,  heavy  morning,  with 
half  a  gale  of  wind  blowing  from  the  south-west,  but 
it  had  not  rained,  and  I  was  out  with  the  Wonder 
when  Challis  arrived. 

He  waited  for  me  and  talked  to  the  flattered  Mrs. 
Berridge,  remonstrated  kindly  with  her  husband  for 
his  neglect  of  the  farm,  and  incidentally  gave  him  a 
rebate  on  the  rent. 

When  I  came  in,  he  insisted  that  I  should  come  to 
lunch  with  him  at  Challis  Court. 

I  consented,  but  stipulated  that  I  must  be  back 
at  Pym  by  three  o'clock  to  accompany  the  Wonder 
for  his  afternoon  walk. 


PROGRESS  AND  RELAXATION       281 

Challis  looked  at  me  curiously,  but  allowed  the 
stipulation. 

We  hardly  spoke  as  we  walked  down  the  hill — the 
habit  of  silence  had  grown  upon  me,  but  after  lunch 
Challis  spoke  out  his  mind. 

On  that  occasion  I  hardly  listened  to  him,  but  he 
came  up  to  the  farm  again  after  tea  and  marched 
me  off  to  dinner  at  the  Court.  I  was  strangely 
plastic  when  commanded,  but  when  he  suggested 
that  I  should  give  up  my  walks  with  the  Wonder, 
go  away  ...  I  smiled  and  said  "Impossible,"  as 
though  that  ended  the  matter. 

Challis,  however,  persisted,  and  I  suppose  I  was 
not  too  far  gone  to  listen  to  him.  I  remember  his 
saying:  "That  problem  is  not  for  you  or  me  or 
any  man  living  to  solve  by  introspection.  Our  work 
is  to  add  knowledge  little  by  little,  data  here  and 
there,  for  future  evidence." 

The  phrase  struck  me,  because  the  Wonder  had 
once  said  "There  are  no  data,"  when  in  the  early 
days  I  had  asked  him  whether  he  could  say  defi 
nitely  if  there  was  any  future  existence  possible 
for  us  ? 

Now  Challis  put  it  to  me  that  our  work  was  to  find 
data,  that  every  little  item  of  real  knowledge  added 
to  the  feeble  store  man  has  accumulated  in  his  few 
thousand  years  of  life,  was  a  step,  the  greatest  step 
any  man  could  possibly  make. 


282  THE  WONDER 

"But  could  we  not  get,  not  a  small  but  a  very 
important  item,  from  Victor  Stott?" 

Challis  shook  his  head.  "He  is  too  many  thou 
sands  of  years  ahead  of  us,"  he  said.  "We  can  only 
bridge  the  gap  by  many  centuries  of  patient  toil. 
If  a  revelation  were  made  to  us,  we  should  not  under 
stand  it." 

So,  by  degrees,  Challis's  influence  took  possession 
of  me  and  roused  me  to  self-assertion. 

One  morning,  half  in  dread,  I  stayed  at  home  and 
read  a  novel — no  other  reading  could  hold  my  atten 
tion — philosophy  had  become  nauseating. 

I  expected  to  see  the  strange  little  figure  of  the 
Wonder  come  across  the  Common,  but  he  never  came, 
nor  did  I  receive  any  reproach  from  Ellen  Mary. 
I  think  she  had  forgotten  her  fear  of  the  Harrison 
idiot. 

Nevertheless,  I  did  not  give  up  my  guardianship 
all  at  once.  Three  times  after  that  morning  I  took 
the  Wonder  for  a  walk.  He  made  no  allusion  to  my 
defalcations.  Indeed  he  never  spoke.  He  relin 
quished  me  as  he  had  taken  me  up,  without  comment 
or  any  expression  of  feeling. 


VI 

On  the  twenty-ninth  of  September  I  went  down  to 
Challis  Court  and  stayed  there  for  a  week.     Then  I 


PROGRESS  AND  RELAXATION        283 

returned  for  a  few  days  to  Wood  Farm  in  order  to 
put  my  things  together  and  pack  my  books.  I  had 
decided  to  go  to  Cairo  for  the  winter  with  Challis. 

At  half-past  one  o'clock  on  Thursday,  the  eighth 
of  October,  I  was  in  the  sitting-room,  when  I  saw 
the  figure  of  Mrs.  Stott  coming  across  the  Common. 
She  came  with  a  little  stumbling  run.  I  could  see 
that  she  was  agitated  even  before  she  reached  the 
farmyard  gate. 


CHAPTER    XVII 

BELEASE 


SHE  opened  the  front  door  without  knocking,  and 
came  straight  into  my  sitting-room. 

"  'E's  not  'ere,"  she  said  in  a  manner  that  left  it 
doubtful  whether  she  made  an  assertion  or  asked  a 
question. 

"Your  son?"  I  said.  I  had  risen  when  she  came 
into  the  room,  "No ;  I  haven't  seen  him  to-day." 

Ellen  Mary  was  staring  at  me,  but  it  was  clear 
that  she  neither  saw  nor  heard  me.  She  had  a  look 
of  intense  concentration.  One  could  see  that  she  was 
calculating,  thinking,  thinking.  .  .  . 

I  went  over  to  her  and  took  her  by  the  arm.  I 
gently  shook  her.  "Now,  tell  me  what's  the  matter? 
What  has  happened?"  I  asked. 

She  made  an  effort  to  collect  herself,  loosened  her 
arm  from  my  hold  and  with  an  instinctive  movement 
pushed  forward  the  old  bonnet,  which  had  slipped  to 
the  back  of  her  head. 

"  'E  'asn't  been  in  to  'is  dinner,"  she  said  hur- 
284 


RELEASE  285 

riedly.     "I've  been  on  the  Common  looking  for  'im." 

"He  may  have  made  a  mistake  in  the  time,"  I  sug 
gested. 

She  made  a  movement  as  though  to  push  me  on 
one  side,  and  turned  towards  the  door.  She  was 
calculating  again.  Her  expression  said  quite  plainly, 
"Could  he  be  there,  could  he  be  there?" 

"Come,  come,"  I  said,  "there  is  surely  no  need 
to  be  anxious  yet." 

She  turned  on  me.  "  'E  never  makes  a  mistake 
in  the  time,"  she  said  fiercely,  "  'e  always  knows  the 
time  to  the  minute  without  clock  or  watch.  Why 
did  you  leave  'im  alone?" 

She  broke  off  in  her  attack  upon  me  and  con 
tinued  :  "  'E's  never  been  late  before,  not  a  minute, 
and  now  it's  a  hour  after  'is  time." 

"He  may  be  at  home  by  now,"  I  said.  She  took 
the  hint  instantly  and  started  back  again  with  the 
same  stumbling  little  run. 

I  picked  up  my  hat  and  followed  her. 

n 

The  Wonder  was  not  at  the  cottage. 

"Now,  my  dear  woman,  you  must  keep  calm,"  I 
said.  "There  is  absolutely  no  reason  to  be  disturbed. 
You  had  better  go  to  Challis  Court  and  see  if  he  is 
in  the  library,  I " 


286  THE  WONDER 

"I'm  a  fool,"  broke  in  Ellen  Mary  with  sudden 
decision,  and  she  set  off  again  without  another  word. 
I  followed  her  back  to  the  Common  and  watched 
her  out  of  sight.  I  was  more  disturbed  about  her 
than  about  the  non-appearance  of  the  Wonder.  He 
was  well  able  to  take  care  of  himself,  but  she.  .  .  . 
How  strange  that  with  all  her  calculations  she  had 
not  thought  of  going  to  Challis  Court,  to  the  place 
where  her  son  had  spent  so  many  days.  I  began  to 
question  whether  the  whole  affair  was  not,  in  some 
way,  a  mysterious  creation  of  her  own  disordered 
brain. 

Nevertheless,  I  took  upon  myself  to  carry  out  that 
part  of  the  programme  which  I  had  not  been  allowed 
to  state  in  words  to  Mrs.  Stott,  and  set  out  for  Deane 
Hill.  It  was  just  possible  that  the  Wonder  might 
have  slipped  down  that  steep  incline  and  injured 
himself.  Possible,  but  very  unlikely;  the  Wonder 
did  not  take  the  risks  common  to  boys  of  his  age, 
he  did  not  disport  himself  on  dangerous  slopes. 

As  I  walked  I  felt  a  sense  of  lightness,  of  relief 
from  depression.  I  had  not  been  this  way  by  myself 
since  the  end  of  August.  It  was  good  to  be  alone 
and  free. 

The  day  was  fine  and  not  cold,  though  the  sun  was 
hidden.  I  noticed  that  the  woods  showed  scarcely 
a  mark  of  autumn  decline. 

There  was  not  a  soul  to  be  seen  by  the  monument. 


RELEASE  287 

I  scrambled  down  the  slope  and  investigated  the  base 
of  the  hill  and  came  back  another  way  through  the 
woods.  I  saw  no  one.  I  stopped  continually  and 
whistled  loudly.  If  he  is  anywhere  near  at  hand,  I 
thought,  and  in  trouble,  he  will  hear  that  and  answer 
me.  I  did  not  call  him  by  name.  I  did  not  know 
what  name  to  call.  It  would  have  seemed  absurd  to 
have  called  "Victor."  No  one  ever  addressed  him 
by  name. 

My  return  route  brought  me  back  to  the  south 
edge  of  the  Common,  the  point  most  remote  from 
the  farm.  There  I  met  a  labourer  whom  I  knew  by 
sight,  a  man  named  Hawke.  He  was  carrying  a 
stick,  and  prodding  with  it  foolishly  among  the  furze 
and  gorse  bushes.  The  bracken  was  already  dying 
down. 

"What  are  you  looking  for?"  I  asked. 

"It's  this  'ere  Master  Stott,  sir,"  he  said,  looking 
up.  "  'E's  got  loarst  seemingly." 

I  felt  a  sudden  stab  of  self-reproach.  I  had  been 
taking  things  too  easily.  I  looked  at  my  watch.  It 
was  a  quarter  to  four. 

"Mr.  Challis  'ave  told  me  to  look  for  'un,"  added 
the  man,  and  continued  his  aimless  prodding  of  the 
gorse. 

"Where  is  Mr.  Challis?"  I  asked. 

"  'E's  yonder,  soomewheres."  He  made  a  vague 
gesture  in  the  direction  of  Pym. 


288  THE  WONDER 

The  sun  had  come  out,  and  the  Common  was  all 
aglow.  I  hastened  towards  the  village. 

On  the  way  I  met  Farmer  Bates  and  two  or  three 
labourers.  They,  too,  were  beating  among  the  gorse 
and  brown  bracken.  They  told  me  that  Mr.  Challis 
was  at  the  cottage  and  I  hurried  on.  All  the  neigh 
bourhood,  it  seems,  was  searching  for  the  Wonder. 
In  the  village  I  saw  three  or  four  women  standing 
with  aprons  over  their  heads,  talking  together. 

I  had  never  seen  Pym  so  animated. 


m 

I  met  Challis  in  the  lane.  He  was  coming  away 
from  Mrs.  Stott's  cottage. 

"Have  you  found  him?"  I  asked  stupidly.  I  knew 
quite  well  that  the  Wonder  was  not  found,  and  yet 
I  had  a  fond  hope  that  I  might,  nevertheless,  be 
mistaken. 

Challis  shook  his  head.  "There  will  be  a  mad 
woman  in  that  cottage  if  he  doesn't  come  back  by 
nightfall,"  he  remarked  with  a  jerk  of  his  head. 
"I've  done  what  I  can  for  her." 

I  explained  that  I  had  been  over  to  Deane  Hill, 
searching  and  calling. 

"You  didn't  see  anything?"  asked  Challis,  echoing 
my  foolish  query  of  a  moment  before.  I  shook  my 
head. 


RELEASE  289 

We  were  both  agitated  without  doubt. 

We  soon  came  up  with  Farmer  Bates  and  his  men. 
They  stopped  and  touched  their  hats  when  they  saw 
us,  and  we  put  the  same  silly  question  to  them. 

"You  haven't  found  him?"  We  knew  perfectly 
well  that  they  would  have  announced  the  fact  at 
once  if  they  had  found  him. 

"One  of  you  go  over  to  the  Court  and  get  any 
man  you  can  find  to  come  and  help,"  said  Challis. 
"Tell  Heathcote  to  send  every  one." 

One  of  the  labourers  touched  his  cap  again,  and 
started  off  at  once  with  a  lumbering  trot. 

Challis  and  I  walked  on  in  silence,  looking  keenly 
about  us  and  stopping  every  now  and  then  and  call 
ing.  We  called  "Hallo!  Hallo-o!"  It  was  an 
improvement  upon  my  whistle. 

"He's  such  a  little  chap,'*  muttered  Challis  once; 
"it  would  be  so  easy  to  miss  him  if  he  were  uncon 
scious." 

It  struck  me  that  the  reference  to  the  Wonder 
was  hardly  sufficiently  respectful.  I  had  never 
thought  of  him  as  "a  little  chap."  But  Challis  had 
not  known  him  so  intimately  as  I  had. 

The  shadows  were  fast  creeping  over  the  Common. 
At  the  woodside  it  was  already  twilight.  The  whole 
of  the  western  sky  right  up  to  the  zenith  was  a 
finely  shaded  study  in  brilliant  orange  and  yellow. 
"More  rain,"  I  thought  instinctively,  and  paused 


290  THE  WONDER 

for  a  moment  to  watch  the  sunset.  The  black  dis 
tance  stood  clearly  silhouetted  against  the  sky.  One 
could  discern  the  sharp  outline  of  tiny  trees  on  the 
distant  horizon. 

We  met  Heathcote  and  several  other  men  in  the 
lane. 

"Shan't  be  able  to  do  much  to-night,  sir,"  said 
Heathcote.  "It'll  be  dark  in  'alf  an  hour,  sir." 

"Well,  do  what  you  can  in  half  an  hour,"  replied 
Challis,  and  to  me  he  said,  "You'd  better  come  back 
with  me.  We've  done  what  we  can." 

I  had  a  picture  of  him  then  as  the  magnate;  I 
had  hardly  thought  of  him  in  that  light  before.  The 
arduous  work  of  the  search  he  could  delegate  to  his 
inferiors.  Still,  he  had  come  out  himself,  and  I  doubt 
not  that  he  had  been  altogether  charming  to  the 
bewildered,  distraught  mother. 

I  acquiesced  in  his  suggestion.  I  was  beginning 
to  feel  very  tired. 

Mrs.  Heathcote  was  at  the  gate  when  we  arrived 
at  the  Court.  "  'Ave  they  found  'im,  sir?"  she 
asked. 

"Not  yet,"  replied  Challis. 

I  followed  him  into  the  house. 


RELEASE  291 

rv 

As  I  walked  back  at  ten  o'clock  it  was  raining 
steadily.  I  had  refused  the  offer  of  a  trap.  I  went 
through  the  dark  and  sodden  wood,  and  lingered 
and  listened.  The  persistent  tap,  tap,  tap  of  the 
rain  on  the  leaves  irritated  me.  How  could  one  hear 
while  that  noise  was  going  on?  There  was  no  other 
sound.  There  was  not  a  breath  of  wind.  Only  that 
perpetual  tap,  tap,  tap,  patter,  patter,  drip,  tap, 
tap.  It  seemed  as  if  it  might  go  on  through 
eternity.  .  .  . 

I  went  to  the  Stotts'  cottage,  though  I  knew  there 
could  be  no  news.  Challis  had  given  strict  instruc 
tions  that  any  news  should  be  brought  to  him  imme 
diately.  If  it  was  bad  news  it  was  to  be  brought 
to  him  before  the  mother  was  told. 

There  was  a  light  burning  in  the  cottage,  and  the 
door  was  set  wide  open. 

I  went  up  to  the  door  but  I  did  not  go  in. 

Ellen  Mary  was  sitting  in  a  high  chair,  her  hands 
clasped  together,  and  she  rocked  continually  to  and 
fro.  She  made  no  sound ;  she  merely  rocked  her 
self  with  a  steady,  regular  persistence. 

She  did  not  see  me  standing  at  the  open  door,  and 
I  moved  quietly  away. 

As  I  walked  over  the  Common — I  avoided  the 
wood  deliberately — I  wondered  what  was  the  human 


292  THE  WONDER 

limit  of  endurance.  I  wondered  whether  Ellen  Mary 
had  not  reached  that  limit. 

Mrs.  Berridge  had  not  gone  to  bed,  and  there  were 
some  visitors  in  the  kitchen.  I  heard  them  talking. 
Mrs.  Berridge  came  out  when  I  opened  the  front 
door. 

"Any  news,  sir?"  she  asked. 

"No;  no  news,"  I  said.  I  had  been  about  to  ask 
her  the  same  question. 


I  did  not  go  to  sleep  for  some  time.  I  had  a 
picture  of  Ellen  Mary  before  my  eyes,  and  I  could 
still  hear  that  steady  pat,  patter,  drip,  of  the  rain 
on  the  beech  leaves. 

In  the  night  I  awoke  suddenly,  and  thought  I 
heard  a  long,  wailing  cry  out  on  the  Common.  I 
got  up  and  looked  out  of  the  window,  but  I  could 
see  nothing.  The  rain  was  still  falling,  but  there 
was  a  blur  of  light  that  showed  where  the  moon  was 
shining  behind  the  clouds.  The  cry,  if  there  had 
been  a  cry,  was  not  repeated. 

I  went  back  to  bed  and  soon  fell  asleep  again. 

I  do  not  know  whether  I  had  been  dreaming,  but 
I  woke  suddenly  with  a  presentation  of  the  little 
pond  on  the  Common  very  clear  before  me. 

"We  never  looked  in  the  pond,"  I  thought,  and 


RELEASE  293 

then — "but  he  could  not  have  fallen  into  the  pond; 
besides,  it's  not  two  feet  deep." 

It  was  full  daylight,  and  I  got  up  and  found  that 
it  was  nearly  seven  o'clock. 

The  rain  had  stopped,  but  there  was  a  scurry  of 
low,  threatening  cloud  that  blew  up  from  the  south. 

I  dressed  at  once  and  went  out.  I  made  my  way 
directly  to  the  Stotts'  cottage. 

The  lamp  was  still  burning  and  the  door  open, 
but  Ellen  Mary  had  fallen  forward  on  to  the  table; 
her  head  was  pillowed  on  her  arms. 

"There  is  a  limit  to  our  endurance,"  I  reflected, 
"and  she  has  reached  it." 

I  left  her  undisturbed. 

Outside  I  met  two  of  Farmer  Bates's  labourers 
going  back  to  work. 

"I  want  you  to  come  up  with  me  to  the  pond,"  I 
said. 

VI 

The  pond  was  very  full. 

On  the  side  from  which  we  approached,  the  ground 
sloped  gradually,  and  the  water  was  stretching  out 
far  beyond  its  accustomed  limits. 

On  the  farther  side  the  gorse  among  the  trunks  of 
the  three  ash-trees  came  right  to  the  edge  of  the 
bank.  On  that  side  the  bank  was  three  or  four  feet 
high. 


294  THE  WONDER 

We  came  to  the  edge  of  the  pond,  and  one  of  the 
labourers  waded  in  a  little  way — the  water  was  very 
shallow  on  that  side — but  we  could  see  nothing  for 
the  scum  of  weed,  little  spangles  of  dirty  green,  and 
a  mass  of  some  other  plant  that  had  borne  a  little 
white  flower  in  the  earlier  part  of  the  year — stuff 
like  dwarf  hemlock. 

Under  the  farther  bank,  however,  I  saw  one  com 
paratively  clear  space  of  black  water. 

"Let's  go  round,"  I  said,  and  led  the  way. 

There  was  a  tiny  path  which  twisted  between  the 
gorse  roots  and  came  out  at  the  edge  of  the  farther 
bank  by  the  stem  of  the  tallest  ash.  I  had  seen  tiny 
village  boys  pretending  to  fish  from  this  point  with 
a  stick  and  a  piece  of  string.  There  was  a  dead 
branch  of  ash  some  five  or  six  feet  long,  with  the 
twigs  partly  twisted  off;  it  was  lying  among  the 
bushes.  I  remembered  that  I  had  seen  small  boys 
using  this  branch  to  clear  away  the  surface  weed. 
I  picked  it  up  and  took  it  with  me. 

I  wound  one  arm  round  the  trunk  of  the  ash,  and 
peered  over  into  the  water  under  the  bank. 

I  caught  sight  of  something  white  under  the  water. 
I  could  not  see  distinctly.  I  thought  it  was  a  piece 
of  broken  ware — the  bottom  of  a  basin.  I  had  picked 
up  the  ash  stick  and  was  going  to  probe  the  deeper 
water  with  it.  Then  I  saw  that  the  dim  white  object 
was  globular. 


RELEASE  295 

The  end  of  my  stick  was  actually  in  the  water. 
I  withdrew  it  quickly,  and  threw  it  behind  me. 

My  heart  began  to  throb  painfully. 

I  turned  my  face  away  and  leaned  against  the 
ash-tree. 

"Can  you  see  anythin'  ?"  asked  one  of  the  labourers 
who  had  come  up  behind  me. 

"Oh!  Christ!"  I  said.  I  turned  quickly  from  the 
pond  and  pressed  a  way  through  the  gorse. 

I  was  overwhelmingly  and  disgustingly  sick. 


vn 

By  degrees  the  solid  earth  ceased  to  wave  and 
sway  before  me  like  a  rolling  heave  of  water,  and  I 
looked  up,  pressing  my  hands  to  my  head — my  hands 
were  as  cold  as  death. 

My  clothes  were  wet  and  muddy  where  I  had  lain 
on  the  sodden  ground.  I  got  to  my  feet  and  in 
stinctively  began  to  brush  at  the  mud. 

I  was  still  a  little  giddy,  and  I  swayed  and  sought 
for  support. 

I  could  see  the  back  of  one  labourer.  He  was 
kneeling  by  the  ash-tree  bending  right  down  over 
the  water.  The  other  man  was  standing  in  the  pond, 
up  to  his  waist  in  water  and  mud.  I  could  just  see 
his  head  and  shoulders.  .  .  . 

I  staggered  away  in  the  direction  of  the  village. 


296  THE  WONDER 

vm 

I  found  Ellen  Mary  still  sitting  in  the  same  chair. 
The  lamp  was  fluttering  to  extinction,  the  flame 
leaping  spasmodically,  dying  down  till  it  seemed  that 
it  had  gone  out,  and  then  again  suddenly  flickering 
up  with  little  clicking  bursts  of  flame.  The  air 
reeked  intolerably  of  paraffin. 

I  blew  the  lamp  out  and  pushed  it  on  one  side. 

There  was  no  need  to  break  the  news  to  Ellen 
Mary.  She  had  known  last  night,  and  now  she  was 
beyond  the  reach  of  information. 

She  sat  upright  in  her  chair  and  stared  out  into 
the  immensity.  Her  hands  alone  moved,  and  they 
were  not  still  for  an  instant.  They  lay  in  her  lap, 
and  her  fingers  writhed  and  picked  at  her  dress. 

I  spoke  to  her  once,  but  I  knew  that  her  mind  was 
beyond  the  reach  of  my  words. 

"It  is  just  as  well,"  I  thought;  "but  we  must  get 
her  away." 

I  went  out  and  called  to  the  woman  next  door. 

She  was  in  her  kitchen,  but  the  door  was  open. 
She  came  out  when  I  knocked. 

"Poor  thing,"  she  said,  when  I  told  her.  "It  'as 
been  a  shock,  no  doubt.  She  was  so  wrapped  hup 
in  the  boy." 

She  could  hardly  have  said  less  if  her  neighbour 
had  lost  half-a-crown. 


RELEASE  297 

"Get  her  into  your  cottage  before  they  come,"  I 
said  harshly,  and  left  her. 

I  wanted  to  get  out  of  the  lane  before  the  men 
came  back,  but  I  had  hardly  started  before  I  saw 
them  coming. 

They  had  made  a  chair  of  their  arms,  and  were 
carrying  him  between  them.  They  had  not  the  least 
fear  of  him,  now. 

IX 

The  Harrison  idiot  suddenly  jumped  out  of  the 
hedge. 

I  put  my  hand  to  my  throat.  I  wanted  to  cry 
out,  to  stop  him,  but  I  could  not  move.  I  felt  sick 
again,  and  utterly  weak  and  powerless,  and  I  could 
not  take  my  gaze  from  that  little  doll  with  the  great 
drooping  head  that  rolled  as  the  men  walked. 

I  was  reminded,  disgustingly,  of  children  with  a 


The  idiot  ran  shambling  down  the  lane.  He  knew 
the  two  men,  who  tolerated  him  and  laughed  at  him. 
He  was  not  afraid  of  them  nor  their  burden. 

He  came  right  up  to  them.  I  heard  one  of  the 
men  say  gruffly,  "Now  then,  you  cut  along  off!" 

I  believe  the  idiot  must  have  touched  the  dead 
body. 

I  was  gripping  my  throat  in  my  hand  ;  I  was  try 
ing  desperately  to  cry  out. 


298  THE  WONDER 

Whether  the  idiot  actually  touched  the  body  or 
not  I  cannot  say,  but  he  must  have  realised  in  his 
poor,  bemused  brain  that  the  thing  was  dead. 

He  cried  out  with  his  horrible,  inhuman  cry, 
turned,  and  ran  up  the  lane  towards  me.  He  fell  on 
his  face  a  few  yards  from  me,  scrambled  wildly  to 
his  feet  again  and  came  on  yelping  and  shrieking. 
He  was  wildly,  horribly  afraid.  I  caught  sight  of 
his  face  as  he  passed  me,  and  his  mouth  was  distorted 
into  a  square,  his  upper  lip  horribly  drawn  up  over 
his  ragged,  yellow  teeth.  Suddenly  he  dashed  at  the 
hedge  and  clawed  his  way  through.  I  heard  him  still 
yelping  appallingly  as  he  rushed  away  across  the 
field. 


CHAPTER    XVIII 

IMPLICATIONS 


THE  jury  returned  a  verdict  of  "Accidental  death." 

If  there  had  been  any  traces  of  a  struggle,  I  had 
not  noticed  them  when  I  came  to  the  edge  of  the 
pond.  There  may  have  been  marks  as  if  a  foot  had 
slipped.  I  was  not  thinking  of  evidence  when  I 
looked  into  the  water. 

There  were  marks  enough  when  the  police  came 
to  investigate,  but  they  were  the  marks  made  by  a 
twelve-stone  man  in  hobnail  boots,  who  had  scram 
bled  into,  and  out  of,  the  pond.  As  the  inspector 
said,  it  was  not  worth  while  wasting  any  time  in 
looking  for  earlier  traces  of  footsteps  below  those 
marks. 

Nor  were  there  any  signs  of  violence  on  the  body. 
It  was  in  no  way  disfigured,  save  by  the  action  of 
the  water,  in  which  it  had  lain  for  perhaps  eighteen 
hours. 

There  was,  indeed,  only  one  point  of  any  signifi 
cance  from  the  jury's  point  of  view,  and  that  they 

299 


300  THE  WONDER 

put  on  one  side,  if  they  considered  it  at  all ;  the  body 
was  pressed  into  the  mud. 

The  Coroner  asked  a  few  questions  about  this 
fact. 

Was  the  mud  very  soft?  Yes,  very  soft,  liquid 
on  top. 

How  was  the  body  lying?     Face  downwards. 

What  part  of  the  body  was  deepest  in  the  mud? 
The  chest.  The  witness  said  he  had  hard  work  to 
get  the  upper  part  of  the  body  released;  the  head 
was  free,  but  the  mud  held  the  rest.  "The  mooad 
soocked  like,"  was  the  expressive  phrase  of  the 
witness. 

The  Coroner  passed  on  to  other  things.  Had  any 
one  a  spite  against  the  child?  and  such  futilities. 
Only  once  more  did  he  revert  to  that  solitary  sig 
nificant  fact.  "Would  it  be  possible,"  he  asked  of 
the  abashed  and  self-conscious  labourer,  "would  it 
be  possible  for  the  body  to  have  worked  its  way 
down  into  the  soft  mud  as  you  have  described  it  to 
have  been  found?" 

"We-el,"  said  the  witness,  "  'twas  in  the  stacky 
mooad,  'twas  through  the  sarft  stoof." 

"But  this  soft  mud  would  suck  any  solid  body 
down,  would  it  not?"  persisted  the  Coroner. 

And  the  witness  recalled  the  case  of  a  duck  that 
had  been  sucked  into  the  same  soft  pond  mud  the 


IMPLICATIONS  301 

summer  before,  and  cited  the  instance.  He  forgot 
to  add  that  on  that  occasion  the  mud  had  not  been 
under  water. 

The  Coroner  accepted  the  instance.  There  can  be 
no  question  that  both  he  and  the  jury  were  anxious 
to  accept  the  easier  explanation. 


But  I  know  perfectly  well  that  the  Wonder  did 
not  fall  into  the  pond  by  accident. 

I  should  have  known,  even  if  that  conclusive  evi 
dence  with  regard  to  his  being  pushed  into  the  mud 
had  never  come  to  light. 

He  may  have  stood  by  the  ash-tree  and  looked 
into  the  water,  but  he  would  never  have  fallen.  He 
was  too  perfectly  controlled;  and,  with  all  his  ap 
parent  abstraction,  no  one  was  ever  more  alive  to 
the  detail  of  his  surroundings.  He  and  I  have  walked 
together  perforce  in  many  slippery  places,  but  I 
have  never  known  him  to  fall  or  even  begin  to  lose 
his  balance,  whereas  I  have  gone  down  many  times. 

Yes;  I  know  that  he  was  pushed  into  the  pond, 
and  I  know  that  he  was  held  down  in  the  mud,  most 
probably  by  the  aid  of  that  ash  stick  I  had  held. 
But  it  was  not  for  me  to  throw  suspicion  on  any 
one  at  that  inquest,  and  I  preferred  to  keep  my 
thoughts  and  my  inferences  to  myself.  I  should 


302  THE  WONDER 

have  done  so,  even  if  I  had  been  in  possession  of 
stronger  evidence. 

I  hope  that  it  was  the  Harrison  idiot  who  was  to 
blame.  He  was  not  dangerous  in  the  ordinary  sense, 
but  he  might  quite  well  have  done  the  thing  in  play 
— as  he  understood  it.  Only  I  cannot  quite  under 
stand  his  pushing  the  body  down  after  it  fell.  That 
seems  to  argue  vindictiveness — and  a  logic  which  I 
can  hardly  attribute  to  the  idiot.  Still,  who  can 
tell  what  went  on  in  the  distorted  mind  of  that  poor 
creature?  He  is  reported  to  have  rescued  the  dead 
body  of  a  rabbit  from  the  undergrowth  on  one  occa 
sion,  and  to  have  blubbered  when  he  could  not  bring 
it  back  to  life. 

There  is  but  one  other  person  who  could  have  been 
implicated,  and  I  hesitate  to  name  him  in  this  place. 
Yet  one  remembers  what  terrific  acts  of  misapplied 
courage  and  ferocious  brutality  the  fanatics  of  his 
tory  have  been  capable  of  performing  when  their 
creed  and  their  authority  have  been  set  at  naught. 

ra 

Ellen  Mary  never  recovered  her  sanity.  She  died 
a  few  weeks  ago  in  the  County  Asylum.  I  hear  that 
her  husband  attended  the  funeral.  When  she  lost 
her  belief  in  the  supernal  wisdom  and  power  of  her 
god,  her  world  must  have  fallen  about  her.  The 


IMPLICATIONS  303 

thing  she  had  imagined  to  be  solid,  real,  everlasting, 
had  proved  to  be  friable  and  destructible  like  all 
other  human  building. 

rv 

The  Wonder  is  buried  in  Chilborough  church 
yard. 

You  may  find  the  place  by  its  proximity  to  the 
great  marble  mausoleum  erected  over  the  remains 
of  Sir  Edward  Bigg,  the  well-known  brewer  and 
philanthropist. 

The  grave  of  Victor  Stott  is  marked  by  a  small 
stone,  some  six  inches  high,  which  is  designed  to 
catch  the  foot  rather  than  the  eye  of  the  seeker. 

The  stone  bears  the  initials  "V.  S.,"  and  a  date 
— no  more. 


I  saw  the  Wonder  before  he  was  buried. 

I  went  up  into  the  little  bedroom  and  looked  at 
him  in  his  tiny  coffin. 

I  was  no  longer  afraid  of  him.  His  power  over 
me  was  dissipated.  He  was  no  greater  and  no  less 
than  any  other  dead  thing. 

It  was  the  same  with  every  one.  He  had  become 
that  "poor  little  boy  of  Mrs.  Stott's."  No  one  spoke 
of  him  with  respect  now.  No  one  seemed  to  remem 
ber  that  he  had  been  in  any  way  different  from  other 


304  THE  WONDER 

"poor  little  fellows"  who  had  died  an  untimely  death. 
One  thing  did  strike  me  as  curious.     The  idiot, 
the  one  person  who  had  never  feared  him  living,  had 
feared  him  horribly  when  he  was  dead.  .   .  . 


CHAPTER   XIX 
EPILOGUE 

THE  USES  OF  MYSTEET 

SOMETHING  Challis  has  told  me;  something  I  have 
learned  for  myself;  and  there  is  something  which 
has  come  to  me  from  an  unknown  source. 

But  here  again  we  are  confronted  with  the  original 
difficulty — the  difficulty  that  for  some  conceptions 
there  is  no  verbal  figure. 

It  is  comprehensible,  it  is,  indeed,  obvious  that 
the  deeper  abstract  speculation  of  the  Wonder's 
thought  cannot  be  set  out  by  any  metaphor  that 
would  be  understood  by  a  lesser  intelligence. 

We  see  that  many  philosophers,  whose  utterances 
have  been  recorded  in  human  history — that  record 
which  floats  like  a  drop  of  oil  on  the  limitless  ocean 
of  eternity — have  been  confronted  with  this  same 
difficulty,  and  have  woven  an  intricate  and  tedious 
design  of  words  in  their  attempt  to  convey  some 
single  conception — some  conception  which  them 
selves  could  see  but  dimly  when  disguised  in  the 
masquerade  of  language ;  some  figure  that  as  it  was 

305 


306  THE  WONDER 

limned  grew  ever  more  confused  beneath  the  wrap 
pings  of  metaphor,  so  that  we  who  read  can  glimpse 
scarce  a  hint  of  its  original  shape  and  likeness. 
We  see,  also,  that  the  very  philosophers  who  cari 
catured  their  own  eidolon,  became  intrigued  with 
the  logical  abstraction  of  words  and  were  led  away 
into  a  wilderness  of  barren  deduction — their  one  in 
spired  vision  of  a  stable  premiss  distorted  and  at  last 
forgotten. 

How  then  shall  we  hope  to  find  words  to  adum 
brate  a  philosophy  which  starts  by  the  assumption 
that  we  can  have  no  impression  of  reality  until  we 
have  rid  ourselves  of  the  interposing  and  utterly 
false  concepts  of  space  and  time,  which  delimit  the 
whole  world  of  human  thought. 

I  admit  that  one  cannot  even  begin  to  do  this 
thing;  within  our  present  limitations  our  whole  ma 
chinery  of  thought  is  built  of  these  two  original  con 
cepts.  They  are  the  only  gauges  wherewith  we  may 
measure  every  reality,  every  abstraction;  wherewith 
we  may  give  outline  to  any  image  or  process  of 
the  mind.  Only  when  we  endeavour  to  grapple  with 
that  indeterminable  mystery  of  consciousness  can 
we  conceive,  however  dimly,  some  idea  of  a  pure 
abstraction  uninfluenced  by  and  independent  of, 
those  twin  bases  of  our  means  of  thought. 

Here  it  is  that  Challis  has  paused.  Here  he  says 
that  we  must  wait,  that  no  revelation  can  reveal 


THE  USES  OF  MYSTERY  307 

what  we  are  incapable  of  understanding,  that  only 
by  the  slow  process  of  evolution  can  we  attain  to 
any  understanding  of  the  mystery  we  have  sought 
to  solve  by  our  futile  and  primitive  hypotheses. 

"But  then,"  I  have  pressed  him,  "why  do  you 
hesitate  to  speak  of  what  you  heard  on  that  after 
noon?" 

And  once  he  answered  me: 

"I  glimpsed  a  finality,"  he  said,  "and  that  ap 
palled  me.  Don't  you  see  that  ignorance  is  the 
means  of  our  intellectual  pleasure?  It  is  the  solv 
ing  of  the  problem  that  brings  enjoyment — the  solved 
problem  has  no  further  interest.  So  when  all  is 
known,  the  stimulus  for  action  ceases;  when  all  is 
known  there  is  quiescence,  nothingness.  Perfect 
knowledge  implies  the  peace  of  death,  implies  the 
state  of  being  one — our  pleasures  are  derived  from 
action,  from  differences,  from  heterogeneity. 

"Oh!  pity  the  child,"  said  Challis,  "for  whom 
there  could  be  no  mystery.  Is  not  mystery  the  first 
and  greatest  joy  of  life?  Beyond  the  gate  there  is 
unexplored  mystery  for  us  in  our  childhood.  When 
that  is  explored,  there  are  new  and  wonderful  possi 
bilities  beyond  the  hills,  then  beyond  the  seas,  be 
yond  the  known  world,  in  the  everyday  chances  and 
movements  of  the  unknown  life  in  which  we  are  cir 
cumstanced. 

"Surely  we  should  all  perish  through  sheer  in- 


308  THE  WONDER 

anity,  or  die  desperately  by  suicide  if  no  mystery 
remained  in  the  world.  Mystery  takes  a  thousand 
beautiful  shapes ;  it  lurks  even  in  the  handiwork  of 
man,  in  a  stone  god,  or  in  some  mighty,  intricate 
machine,  incomprehensibly  deliberate  and  deter 
mined.  The  imagination  endows  the  man-made  thing 
with  consciousness  and  powers,  whether  of  reser 
vation  or  aloofness ;  the  similitude  of  meditation  and 
profundity  is  wrought  into  stone.  Is  there  not 
source  for  mystery  to  the  uninstructed  in  the  great 
machine  registering  the  progress  of  its  own  achieve 
ment  with  each  solemn,  recurrent  beat  of  its  metal 
pulse  ? 

"Behind  all  these  things  is  the  wonder  of  the  im 
agination  that  never  approaches  more  nearly  to 
the  creation  of  a  hitherto  unknown  image  than  when 
it  thus  hesitates  on  the  verge  of  mystery. 

"There  is  yet  so  much,  so  very  much  cause  for 
wondering  speculation.  Science  gains  ground  so 
slowly.  Slowly  it  has  outlined,  however  vaguely, 
the  uncertainties  of  our  origin  so  far  as  this  world 
is  concerned,  while  the  mystic  has  fought  for  his 
entrancing  fairy  tales  one  by  one. 

"The  mystic  still  holds  his  enthralling  belief  in 
the  succession  of  peoples  who  have  risen  and  died — 
the  succeeding  world-races,  red,  black,  yellow,  and 
white,  which  have  in  turn  dominated  this  planet. 
Science  with  its  hammer  and  chisel  may  lay  bare  evi- 


THE  USES  OF  MYSTERY  309 

dence,  may  collate  material,  date  man's  appearance, 
call  him  the  most  recent  of  placental  mammals,  trace 
his  superstitions  and  his  first  conceptions  of  a  god 
from  the  elemental  fears  of  the  savage.  But  the  mys 
tic  turns  aside  with  an  assumption  of  superior  knowl 
edge  ;  he  waves  away  objective  evidence ;  he  has  a  cer 
tainty  impressed  upon  his  mind. 

"And  the  mystic  is  a  power.  He  compels  a  multi 
tude  of  followers,  because  he  offers  an  attraction 
greater  than  the  facts  of  science.  He  tells  of  a  mys 
tery  profounder  than  any  problem  solved  by  patient 
investigation,  because  his  mystery  is  incomprehen 
sible  even  by  himself;  and  in  fear  lest  any  should 
comprehend  it,  he  disguises  the  approach  with  an 
array  of  lesser  mysteries,  man-made ;  with  terminolo 
gies,  symbologies  and  high  talk  of  esotericism  too 
fearful  for  any  save  the  initiate. 

"But  we  must  preserve  our  mystic  in  some  form 
against  the  awful  time  when  science  shall  have  de 
termined  a  limit ;  when  the  long  history  of  evolution 
shall  be  written  in  full,  and  every  stage  of  world- 
building  shall  be  made  plain.  When  the  cycle  of 
atomic  dust  to  atomic  dust  is  demonstrated,  and 
the  detail  of  the  life-process  is  taught  and  under 
stood,  we  shall  have  a  fierce  need  for  the  mystic  to 
save  us  from  the  futility  of  a  world  we  understand, 
to  lie  to  us  if  need  be,  to  inspirit  our  material  and 
regular  minds  with  some  breath  of  delicious  madness. 


310  THE  WONDER 

We  shall  need  the  mystic  then,  or  the  completeness  of 
our  knowledge  will  drive  us  at  last  to  complete  the 
dusty  circle  in  our  eagerness  to  escape  from  a  world 
we  understand.  .  .  . 

"See  how  man  clings  to  his  old  and  useless  tradi 
tions  ;  see  how  he  opposes  at  every  step  the  awful 
force  of  progress.  At  each  stage  he  protests  that  the 
thing  that  is,  is  good,  or  that  the  thing  that  was 
and  has  gone,  was  better.  He  despises  new  knowl 
edge  and  fondly  clings  to  the  belief  that  once  men 
were  greater  than  they  now  are.  He  looks  back  to 
the  more  primitive,  and  endows  it  with  that  mystery 
he  cannot  find  in  his  own  times.  So  have  men  ever 
looked  lingeringly  behind  them.  It  is  an  instinct, 
a  great  and  wonderful  inheritance  that  postpones 
the  moment  of  disillusionment. 

"We  are  still  mercifully  surrounded  with  the 
countless  mysteries  of  every-day  experience,  all  the 
evidences  of  the  unimaginable  stimulus  we  call  life. 
Would  you  take  them  away?  Would  you  resolve 
life  into  a  disease  of  the  ether — a  disease  of  which 
you  and  I,  all  life  and  all  matter,  are  symptoms? 
Would  you  teach  that  to  the  child,  and  explain  to  him 
that  the  wonder  of  life  and  growth  is  no  wonder,  but 
a  demonstrable  result  of  impeded  force,  to  be  evalu 
ated  by  the  application  of  an  adequate  formula? 

"You  and  I,"  'said  Challis,  "are  children  in  the 
infancy  of  the  world.  Let  us  to  our  play  in  the 


THE  USES  OF  MYSTERY  311 

nursery  of  our  own  times.  The  day  will  come,  per 
haps,  when  humanity  shall  have  grown  and  will  have 
to  take  upon  itself  the  heavy  burden  of  knowledge. 
But  you  need  not  fear  that  that  will  be  in  our  day, 
nor  in  a  thousand  years. 

"Meanwhile  leave  us  our  childish  fancies,  our  little 
imaginings,  our  hope — children  that  we  are — of 
those  impossible  mysteries  beyond  the  hills.  .  .  ." 


THE    END 


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